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A WILDERNESS DOG 

The Biography of a Gray Wolf 




He Fired the Remaining Two Shots in His Revolver 




^Zixtflor of j 

SbaffgtfCOat \ the ftiograpfiy of a 3eaver 
3lsck Bruin, the Biography of a Bear 
ShovelfiornS, ffie Biography ofaMoose 

etc. 

Illustrated by 

Charles Copeland 



PH/IADELPHIA 

GEORGE W.JAC03S&C? 

PUBLISHERS 



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Copyright, 1910, by 

George W. Jacobs & Company 

Published September, igio 



All rights reserved 
Printed in U. S. A. 



©CI. A 21 ' 5 



Dedicated to 
THE BOY CAMPERS OF AMERICA 

little men of the out-of-doors, who 
fall asleep each night with their eyes 
up 071 the star- gemmed heavens, and 
wake each morning with the thrushes; 
who ripen in the sun, the wind and 
the rain, like nuts upon the forest 
trees ; and who catch something of the 
beauty and mystery of nature and hold 
it in their young hearts, like the morn- 
ing dew in the chalice of the flower 




Introduction . 

I. Christmas in the Big Woods 

II. Vixen 

III. The Den in the Books 

IV. The Killers 
V. Good Hunting . 

VI. In the Toils of Man 

VII. Back to His First Loye 

VIII. Faithful as a Dog . 

IX. Heard in the Silence 

X. The Eed Eage . 

XI. The Wilderness Call 



11 
27 
51 
73 
101 
121 
153 
179 
203 
227 
247 
275 




He Fired the Eemaintng Two Shots 
In His Eevolver . . . Frontispiece 

They Started a Fine Buck out 
of a Clump of Spruces . . Facing page 128 



Hairface Sped to His Imper- 
iled Master . 



200 



Frantically they Eaced 
Through the Scorching 
Woods . . 

He Glowered Down at the 
Houses of Men in the Yalley 



268 

284 



INTRODUCTION 



INTRODUCTION 

Into the folk-lore and the fireside tales 
of nearly all peoples has come striding the 
tall, sinister figure of the great gray wolf. 

Sometimes it is in fairy stories as in " Lit- 
tle Red Ridinghood," which in Grimm's 
Fairy Tales is explained as a mythical 
legend, describing the alternate day and 
night and the daily disappearance of the 
moon (the grandmother) before the sun, 
which is the wolf. Again, it is in legend, 
as in the story of the founding of Rome by 
Romulus and Remus, through the kind 
maternal offices of their foster-mother, the 
she-wolf. 

In still more startling form it comes to 
us from India in those gruesome tales of 
wolf children, and there seem to be many 
of them which are credited by Englishmen 



14 Introduction 



who know India and its people. Such a 
tale is Kipling's story of Mowgli, the fasci- 
nating yet fearful account of a child 
snatched from the fireside by a she-wolf 
and taken away to her den, where he was 
suckled and brought up in all wa}'s like 
one of the wolf whelps, running either upon 
two feet or four at will, uttering strange 
cries like a wild beast, and eating flesh. 
Such is the description of the Indian wolf- 
child. But Mowgli became a great leader 
of the pack, supplementing the cunning of 
the wolf with that of man, and, whenever 
he could, preventing the pack from eating 
human flesh. 

Nearly every people in its struggle on the 
frontier has fought with wolves ; hence 
frontier literature abounds in accounts of 
hairbreadth escapes from them. Nowhere 
is this more true than in the literature of 
Russia, where the wolves are most destruc- 
tive to human life. In many parts of that 



Introduction 1 5 



country the fight for existence against 
wolves is a desperate one, and the govern- 
ment bounties upon these gray marauders 
are very heavy. 

In other countries the wolves content 
themselves with simply making raids upon 
sheep and cattle, or other stock, and are a 
very serious menace to the stock-raiser. 
This is particularly true in the northwestern 
portion of our own country, where continu- 
ous war has gone on between the stock- 
raiser and the wolves ever since the days of 
Clarke and Lewis. 

There have been many famous fighters in 
this border warfare ; — wolves renowned for 
their strength and cunning who have set at 
naught the traps and the poison of men and 
their skill as hunters, and gone on year 
after year with their devastation. In such 
cases a wolf becomes legendary, and lives in 
fireside tales long after he has gone the way 
of his sires. 



16 Introduction 



Such a wolf was " the wild beast of Gen- 
endare," who terrorized Brittany in the 
north of France in 1760. He carried on 
his work of destruction among human be- 
ings for five years, although the skilled 
hunters of the country pursued him con- 
stantly, and notwithstanding the fact that 
the king had offered a large reward for his 
scalp, and for a portion of the time the bet- 
ter part of the French army was employed 
in hunting him. 

In times of famine, wolves have been 
known to lay siege to large towns and not 
to allow the citizens to come forth for many 
weeks. But most of these strange things 
happened several centuries ago ; to-day the 
wolf is no longer a menace to life, and much 
less so to property than formerly. 

The wolf is quick to learn from sad ex- 
perience. Twenty or thirty years ago he 
could be both poisoned and trapped by the 
man upon our western frontier. To-day he 



Introduction 1 7 



knows both traps and strychnine and can 
be taken in neither way, so that man has 
again to sharpen his wits if he would pro- 
tect his stock against the gray pack. 

The wolf differs greatly in size, ferocity, 
and cunning, according to the region he 
inhabits, for it seems to be his environment 
that brings out his varying characteristics. 

Naturalists are not of one accord as to the 
classification of wolves. All are agreed 
that there are two very distinctly marked 
species, but of the sub-divisions there seem 
to be many, all differing slightly, although 
not enough to render them really distinct 
from their brother wolves. The two widely 
differing varieties are the tall gray timber 
wolf, the scourge of the frontier, and his 
small brown brother, the prairie wolf, or 
coyote of the Mexican. These two are 
easily told apart in all climes, for one is a 
giant and the other, in comparison, a 
pigmy. 



18 Introduction 



Some of the very largest wolves on record 
are found in Colorado and in our north- 
western states. Many of them tip the beam 
at considerably over one hundred pounds, 
and there are a few instances on record 
of wolves weighing one hundred and forty 
and one hundred and fifty pounds. One 
hundred pounds is a fair weight for a timber 
wolf, while a very large coyote does not 
weigh over thirty or thirty-five pounds. So 
the gap between these two wolves will be 
seen to be wide. From the coyote down, 
however, there seems to be a gradual and 
an easy grade to the fox, for there is a 
wolf in Mexico called the fox-wolf, who 
is the natural link between the two. 

Again, the gray wolf varies in size and 
color according to the clime he inhabits. 
Usually he is a grizzled gray, tawny in 
places, and also with many hairs tipped 
with black ; but in parts of Texas he is a 
dingy rufous red, while in another portion 



Introduction 19 



of the same state he is black. Along the 
upper Missouri River white wolves were 
quite common twenty years ago, so it will 
be seen that the gray wolf is not always 
gray. The coyote, which corresponds to the 
jackal in the eastern hemisphere, is nearly 
always some shade of brown ; but he is a 
sneaking, no-account fellow, so it does not 
much matter what color he is. 

In the cold winter months, when food 
becomes scarce, the wolves form themselves 
into packs of from six to twenty members 
and hunt their food in common. Then it 
is that the law of the pack, a rather simple 
though rigorous code, is in force. 

The pack is always under the guidance 
of a leader ; the strongest and most cunning 
wolf has this honor. He it is who directs 
their movements, and exacts rigid obedi- 
ence. If any transgress his law, their 
punishment is death, which the gray, 
grizzled veteran metes out himself, while 



20 Introduction 



the remainder of the pack look on with 
approval. 

Male wolves are never allowed to trans- 
gress his laws, but females are shown more 
leniency. The reason for this is that a 
male wolf will rarely bite a female. No 
matter how much the she-wolf may exas- 
perate her lord, he seldom punishes her ; 
but simply turns his head and lets her 
slash him with her fangs at will. 

Wolf whelps are simply a lot of tumbling, 
snapping, frolicking wilderness puppies. 
This is very easily proven. If one puts a 
collie pup into a wolf den, and allows it to 
be brought up with the wolf whelps, it will 
in one generation return completely to the 
wild, and when it has matured will be a 
veritable wolf, perhaps a little less ferocious 
than its real wolf brothers, yet to all intents 
and purposes a wolf. On the other hand, 
bring the wolf whelp into camp before he is 
old enough to have developed his wolfish 



Introduction 2 1 



traits, and you can make quite a respectable 
dog of him, although he will always be 
wolfish, and it would take several genera- 
tions to make a clever dog of him. 

Wolf-coursing has ever been a favorite 
sport upon the frontier, where the very con- 
ditions under which the people live breed 
recklessness and daring. In Europe it has 
been the pastime of the upper classes, and 
crowned heads have often distinguished 
themselves in famous wolf-hunts. Even 
to-day the Czar of all the Russias is sup- 
posed to own the finest wolfhounds in the 
world. Each year the royal family and the 
great retinue of the Czar go forth to test the 
skill of these Russian wolfhounds, and 
prizes are awarded to the best dogs. 

Here, however, the sport seems to be 
rather cruel, as the dogs are run in packs and 
are taught to catch the wolf, each dog getting 
hold of a leg and stretching his body, thus 
holding him until the hunters come up. 



22 Introduction 



A few years ago an American gentleman 
imported some of these famous Russian 
wolfhounds, but they were entirely unable 
to make the American timber wolf submit 
to this stretching ordeal, as he seems to be 
stronger and fiercer than any of his brothers. 

My father and an uncle went west in the 
early fifties, when Chicago was a small vil- 
lage, with rough plank walks and other 
primitive features. In those days, the 
farmers came to town, drawing their wheat 
in four-horse wagons. Some traversed a 
distance of one hundred and fifty miles over 
the prairies, and wolves often followed these 
teams for hours. When a small boy, it was 
my delight to sit at my father's knee and 
hear stories of wolves upon the great plains 
in the early days. 

The most exciting of all these tales, to 
which I listened with bated breath, were the 
accounts of wolf-coursing, in which dare- 
devil sport the men and boys indulged in 



Introduction 23 



the late autumn. The packs used in these 
hunts were usually a motley set of dogs : 
deerhounds, foxhounds, shepherds, bull- 
dogs, and many varieties of mongrels. 

The hiding-places of the wolves were in 
what is called the bottom-lands, along the 
river-courses, where there was timber which 
afforded them good cover. Unless you 
could find your wolf in the open, this cover 
had to be beaten and the wolf driven out. 
When he was at last sighted, pandemonium 
broke loose among both the pack and the 
horsemen, for it was a part of the game to 
make as much noise as possible, the theory 
being that this confused the wolf and pre- 
vented his making his best run. Shouts 
rang out, horns were blown, pistols were 
discharged, and away they all went at a 
frightful pace across the rough prairie. 

About the only stratagem used was to 
keep the wolf in the open and ride hard. 
This riding was far more treacherous than 



24 Introduction 






that ordinarily indulged in by fox-hunters 
who hunt to hounds, for much of the way 
led through cities of prairie dogs, where the 
ground was fairly perforated with the bur- 
rows of these interesting little creatures. 

With the horse going at a dead run, it 
was impossible to guide him and keep him 
out of danger ; so he was usually given his 
head in any of this bad land, the rider 
knowing well that the horse's instinct was 
better than his own judgment in such a 
crisis. 

Frequently after a long, hard chase, the 
wolf got away ; but often he was at last 
brought to bay, and, amid a babel of snarl- 
ing dogs, shouting men, and the crack of 
firearms, paid the price of being a wolf and 
an outcast of civilization. 

The particular reason why I am inter- 
ested in wolves and am writing this book 
is to show that the wolf is the wilderness 
brother of our friend the dog ; that he is 



Introduction 25 



the dog's wild ancestor, like him in nearly 
every respect, but without his love and 
affection, which long association with man 
has so strongly developed. To me the affec- 
tion of a good dog is one of the most beau- 
tiful things in the brute kingdom. 

Just when or where the great gray wolf 
and man became acquainted is uncertain, 
but that they did become acquainted the 
dog can testify. It is probable that for cen- 
turies the wolf hovered upon the outskirts 
of man's camp-fire, fearful yet attracted, 
wishing to draw in close to this strange 
figure that crouched by the fire, yet not 
daring to do so. They met upon the moun- 
tain-top and in the deep valley, in spring, 
summer, autumn and winter, yet were 
strangers, until at last the fear wore away, 
and the great gaunt wolf drew in close to the 
man's habitation. 

Perhaps he was hungry and the man 
threw him a fish, or it may be that the 



26 Introduction 



fascination of the firelight was too much for 
his curiosity ; but at last he came and sat 
by the side of the man creature and finally 
snuggled up close to him, putting his long 
cruel muzzle into the hand of his master. 
Then he licked the hand of man, and has 
been his slave and admirer ever since, lov- 
ing him through poverty and disgrace, in 
sickness and in health, eager to forgive an 
injury, faithful unto death as only a dog 
can be. Such is the trustful brute that has 
come to us from the pack of the gray wolf. 



CHAPTER I 
CHRISTMAS IN THE BIG WOODS 



A Wilderness Do 

CHAPTER I 

CHRISTMAS IN THE BIG WOODS 



It was Christmas Eve in the big woods, 
but none of the silent-footed fur folk that 
came and went like shadows in its gray, 
ghastly aisles, or any of the swift-winged 
denizens of the tree-tops were aware of the 
fact. For them to-morrow would not be the 
very best and the gladdest day in all the 
year. To their senses the sun would shine 
no brighter, and the winds would be no 
warmer. 

All day long they had come and gone, 
each upon his errand of subsistence bent. 
To catch somebody else, and not get caught 
himself, — that was the game. It was a 



30 A Wilderness Dog 

rather hazardous game, but they had all of 
them always played it, and knew no other. 
If it was a hard lot, they did not realize it, 
for unlike man and the domestic creatures, 
they had not been pampered by civilization, 
and did not know the luxuries of shelter 
and artificial warmth. 

But they played the game well, each in 
his own way. 

The fox had gone about his hunting just 
as diligently that day as he ever had in his 
life, for game was scarce this winter, and 
the rabbit, the partridge, the wood-mouse, 
and everything else that is meat for Rey- 
nard had looked to it that this sly fellow 
went without his supper. 

And each was well equipped to fight the 
battle. The rabbit had put on his ermine 
coat, that none of his many enemies might 
see him, and his broad-padded feet fell upon 
the snow, light as the falling of an autumn 
leaf. The weasel had also put on his white 



Christmas in the Big Woods 31 

coat, which was unfortunate for all his prey 
both big and little, since it made him so 
inconspicuous in the new snow. The great 
horned owl had grown a fine fringe upon his 
wings, that his coming might be swift and 
sure ; and the partridge, swaying in the 
tree-top as he budded, might not hear his 
approach or know of his whereabouts, until 
steely talons enfolded him. 

Thus the old warfare went on, and it 
made no difference whether it was Christ- 
mas Eve or not. In the ancient woods the 
snows that had fallen thick and fast, ever 
since about Thanksgiving-time, were three 
or four feet deep. The laurel and the scrub 
spruces in many cases were entirely hidden. 
The rabbit swamps were a tangle of paths, 
main-traveled roads, and innumerable side- 
streets leading in every direction. Here 
and there one could see where a buck rabbit 
had his rubbing-post upon a soft maple or 
a white birch. 



32 A Wilderness Dog 

This was his own particular post, and 
for another rabbit to use it, would be as 
much a breach of etiquette, as for you or 
me to use another person's comb or brush. 
Impolite rabbits sometimes trespassed the 
long-established rules of conduct for the 
woods, and then there were battles royal, 
simply over a rubbing-post ; — but men often 
fight over even smaller things than that. 

Occasionally also one might see where a 
partridge had plunged under the snow, for a 
night's rest. Here it was that the prowling 
fox, who does most of his hunting at night, 
sometimes found the sound sleeper; then 
there were signs of a scuffle and blood upon 
the snow, and perhaps a few feathers, for 
Reynard is a sly fellow, else he would have 
starved ages ago. 

Early that morning of December twenty- 
fourth, just as the sun glorified the eastern 
hilltops, and set all the myriad snow-crystals 
in field and forest to sparkling, a tote- team 






Christmas in the Big Woods 33 

had started from McGregor's Point, a small 
lumbering and trading town on the upper 
Ottawa River, to carry supplies to camp 
No. 18, of the Ottawa River Lumber Com- 
pany. 

The team was driven by Roderick McEl- 
wain, a vigorous Scotch boy of about eight- 
een years. The load was a few general 
provisions for the camp, and also the mail 
from the outside world, with many parcels 
brimming with Christmas cheer. In short, 
the load was a sort of Merry Christmas from 
the world to camp No. 18. 

The trip was a long one, considering the 
fact that the snow was deep, and much of 
the way the team could merely wallow 
slowly ; but in other places, where the pines 
and the spruces were especially heavy, the 
track was fairly good. Young McElwain 
had been over the trail every other day since 
the first snowfall, and although it was a 
winding, devious way, he knew all of its 



34 A Wilderness Dog 

twists and turns, as well as you or I would 
know our own city street. This was his 
woodsman's instinct. 

But the roads had never been as bad as 
they were to-day, and when the blue shadows 
of the early winter twilight began creeping 
through the woods, he had covered only 
about two-thirds of the journey, and there 
were still seven or eight good English miles 
between him and a night's lodging for both 
man and beast. This would not be so bad 
if the moon were bright, but there were 
signs of its being cloudy, and the outlook 
was not pleasant. 

Anxiously Roderick watched the long 
blue shadows creep through the forest, and 
the sable mantle of night enfold the white 
landscape ; but it was not with fear, for to 
his strong nerves the forest held no terrors. 
It was the inconvenience of plodding for 
miles upon a winding, twisting trail in 
nearly total darkness that bothered him. 



Christmas in the Big Woods 35 

At first a few stars, brighter than their fel- 
lows, pricked through the haze, but even 
these were soon obscured by the enfolding 
gloom. 

With the coming of night, the wind began 
to freshen and to moan a cheerless wailing 
dirge in the tree-tops. A benumbing chill 
also crept into the air, and altogether the 
night boded ill for the young traveler caught 
so far from shelter. 

As the darkness deepened, he was obliged 
to go still more slowly and occasionally 
even to get out and hunt for the trail. This 
he was able to do, even in the darkness, by 
treading about in the snow, for the trail was 
hard, while the untrodden snows were very 
soft, and as soon as one got off the track he 
sank deep in them. 

It was an eerie night of moaning winds 
and groaning branches, punctuated with 
the occasional hooting of an owl or the 
sharp bark of a prowling fox. 



36 A Wilderness Dog 

Once the young teamster got a few feet 
off the trail, and it was with great difficulty 
that he guided his plunging, frightened 
horse back to safety. Just as he had found 
the trail once more, and was again plodding 
upon his arduous way, a long, desolate, 
high-keyed howl floated down through the 
aisles of the gloom-haunted forest. It was 
so thin, so wavering, and so much like the 
howling of the wind, that a less experienced 
ear than Roderick's might have been mis- 
taken in the sound. But, although he had 
heard the cry rarely before, he knew it in- 
stantly as foreboding menace, especially 
to a lone traveler far from shelter. It was 
the hunting cry of the great gray wolf. 

Presently the fitful wind again bore the 
wild, weird howl to his ears. At first he 
had been doubtful of the direction from 
which it had come, but now he located it 
without difficulty, for it sounded somewhat 
nearer. The great gray hunter was on his 



Christmas in the Big Woods 37 

trail, after his flesh and that of old Benny, 
the tote-horse. 

A few minutes before he had been debat- 
ing the advisability of camping for the 
night ; now, that was out of the question. 
He must press on desperately and see if he 
could not reach Lake Quambog before the 
fight came, for he was sure that there would 
be a fight. The deep snows had made hunt- 
ing bad for the wolves, and they certainly 
were in earnest this time. 

He reached under the seat to see if the 
thirty-two calibre revolver which he always 
carried was there, and, after reassuring him- 
self that it was safe, braced his nerves, and 
urged Benny forward. 

Soon the howling was repeated, this time 
much nearer, — so near in fact that it gave 
Roderick quite a start. They were follow- 
ing rapidly. Again and again the desolate, 
blood-curdling cry was reiterated, each time 
a little nearer. Like an inexorable fate, 



38 A Wilderness Dog 

this menace from the seemingly peaceful 
woods bore down upon the young man. 

Five anxious minutes dragged by, and 
the cries were not repeated. A less expe- 
rienced woodsman than Roderick might 
have been deceived into the belief that his 
trail had been abandoned, but not he. He 
knew full well that their silence meant they 
had discovered his proximit}^ and were 
closing in, or reconnoitering their prey. 

Another minute of this suspense went 
by and then old Benny stopped stock still 
in the trail and began snorting and shaking 
with fright. Roderick peered into the 
darkness, and, forty or fifty feet ahead, 
made out the two yellow phosphorous eyes 
of a wolf, burning like live coals. 

This was serious. They had either inten- 
tionally or unwittingly got directly in his 
way, so that further progress was impossible 
until the road was cleared. Why could not 
the miserable brutes content themselves with 



Christmas in the Big Woods 39 

following behind ? Then they might even 
help him to urge the tired horse forward. 

Roderick reached down under the seat 
for his revolver, and, turning Benny's head 
as far to one side as he could and still keep 
him on the trail, he took deliberate aim be- 
tween the two bright coals and fired. The 
old tote-horse reared and plunged, and for 
a moment the boy had his hands full quiet- 
ing him. When he got a chance to look for 
the wolf, the two coals had disappeared and 
the way was again clear. 

Once more they started forward, but now 
Benny was keyed to the highest pitch. He 
too understood the danger, and that wild, 
unreasoning terror, which horses often show 
in time of peril, made him almost unman- 
ageable. 

For an arduous quarter of a mile they 
moved on again, the horse plunging and 
snorting, and the driver holding on to him 
for dear life, and, by a superhuman effort, 



4o A Wilderness Dog 

keeping him in the path. Then Roderick's 
quick ear caught the soft patter of feet on 
the trail behind, and, turning, he made out 
three or four tall gray shapes following. 
How bold they were becoming ! If they 
were not checked they might at any minute 
jump upon his low load from behind and 
attack him ; so turning part way around, 
and at the same time keeping as tight a 
rein on the horse as he could, he fired one 
more shot at his menacing enemies. But 
the shot was probably high ; and, although 
they all sneaked into the cover at the 
side of the trail and followed warily for a 
few rods, no harm was done them as far as 
Roderick could see. Soon he heard the 
rhythmic pat-a-pat-pat in the road behind, 
and knew that they were following again. 

They were not as much of a menace from 
behind, however, as when they blocked his 
way in front, so he let them come on, until 
one caught at the end of a blanket that was 



Christmas in the Big Woods 41 

flapping behind, and sought to pull it from 
the load. Then Roderick whirled and fired 
again. As before, they took to the under- 
brush, but not for long. 

A bright thought now came to him. He 
reached down under the blankets and 
dragged up a ham, about the only eatable 
thing in the load, and threw it over the 
back of the sled, as a peace-offering to his 
pursuers. 

The famished pack fell upon it like 
furies, and the boy shuddered at the 
thought of what they would do to him 
if they got the chance. But they were 
soon back, like Oliver Twist, asking for 
more. Roderick had no more meat for 
them, and little else that he fancied they 
would care for; but at last, seeing how 
hard they were pressing him, he hurled 
the buffalo robe at them, and it, too, went 
the way of the ham. 

The lake was now barely half a mile 



42 A Wilderness Dog 

distant, and the boy's hopes began to rise ; 
if he could only reach it ; he knew that he 
could offer a better fight. There the way 
was smooth and open, and if the moon 
would only come up, he felt certain that he 
could beat them off. So, as fast as the 
wolves pressed him too hard, he fired the 
remaining two shots in his revolver, and 
urged the frantic horse forward. 

Yet the pack pressed him closer and 
closer, and he was soon obliged to strike 
with the whip and to shout, in order to 
keep them from springing upon the load 
behind. 

The rearing and plunging of the horse 
did not permit of his loading the revolver 
again, and he now began to fear that he 
had made a mistake in not keeping his last 
two shots until they came to close quarters. 
He reached down under the seat and got 
out the axe which he always carried. That 
did not need to be reloaded, and, after all, 



Christmas in the Big Woods 43 

was about as good a weapon at close range 
as the revolver. 

Suddenly a mighty wolf leaped fairly 
upon the top of the load. At the same 
instant Roderick had a premonition of 
danger, and turned just in time to see the 
brute spring. 

The axe was light, and the young man 
was strong, and his plight made him des- 
perate. Before the wolf could advance or 
retreat, with a mighty blow he sent him 
sprawling in the road behind. It was a 
lucky blow well placed, and the fallen 
wolf's famished comrades, frenzied by the 
blood that flowed freely from a gash in his 
head, made short work of him. 

For fifteen minutes Roderick and his 
jaded horse plodded on without molesta- 
tion, and then he gave a great shout of joy. 
The moon was at last breaking through the 
clouds, and the lake, wind-swept and nearly 
free of snow, was just ahead. He had also 



44 A Wilderness Dog 

reloaded his revolver during the cessation 
of hostilities, and now felt much better able 
to continue the struggle. 

" Come on," he shouted, as the horse 
broke into a wild gallop across the frozen 
lake, " and I will give you a bit of lead for 
supper." 

His pursuers needed no further invita- 
tion, and soon six gigantic timber wolves 
were racing over the ice after him. 

Bang, went his revolver and the bullet 
skimmed over the ice. It was almost im- 
possible to hit one of them, with his atten- 
tion so closely riveted upon the horse, and 
going at this breakneck pace. Three of the 
brutes raced alongside and three behind, 
but Benny still kept up his frantic speed. 
Soon two alarming facts were apparent : 
first, that the horse was nearly exhausted ; 
and, second, that the wolves were on the 
outside, running the team around in a 
great circle. 



Christmas in the Big Woods 45 

When Roderick fully realized these two 
facts, his blood ran cold. Benny would 
soon drop, and they would be at the mercy 
of the pack. He cheered on the poor horse 
with friendly cries, and shouted hoarse im- 
precations at his foes ; but in spite of all he 
could do, the pace slackened, and the great 
circle in which they were running grew 
smaller and smaller. 

As long as they kept in rapid motion, 
Roderick did not much fear that the wolves 
would try to close in on him, but as soon 
as they came to a dead stop, then he knew 
that there would be a desperate battle. He 
would have to protect both himself and the 
horse, for he did not intend to abandon his 
faithful steed to these famished brutes. 

After fifteen minutes of rapid running, 
the tired horse was blowing and gasping, 
nearly winded ; but the gaunt timber 
wolves galloped on, as fresh as ever. 
Clearly it was no hardship for them. The 



46 A Wilderness Dog 

circle in which they were now running was 
only about twenty rods in diameter, and at 
first it had been half a mile. Surely it 
seemed that the chances of escape upon the 
lake, which Roderick had thought so bright 
a few minutes before, were vanishing rapidly. 

The wolves now galloped in close, and 
once a gigantic tawny fellow snapped at 
Benny's leg. Roderick shuddered to think 
how soon the pack would have been upon 
them, had the wolf drawn blood. 

In a last effort to frighten them a little 
farther from the horse he fired his remain- 
ing two shots, and again his revolver was 
empty. Just at the moment that the last 
shot rang out clear and sharp upon the night 
air, a tall, gaunt figure leaped fairly upon 
the load behind him. Roderick felt the 
hot breath of the beast upon the back of his 
neck, so sure and strong had been the leap. 

Quick as a flash he turned, raising the 
empty revolver to strike the wolf, who, he 



Christmas in the Big Woods 47 

had no doubt, would give him a desperate 
fight for life. 

The revolver fell, but not by his volition. 
Instead it fell from his nerveless hand by 
its own weight, and with a glad cry of both 
triumph and thanksgiving, he seized the 
great brute about the neck in a transport 
of delight. 

" Vixen, old girl," he cried, " Vixen, you 
came just in time to get me out of a 
mighty tight place. Now we'll show 'em. 
Seek 'em, Vixen ; seek 'em." 

The tall, sinewy Irish deerhound, who 
had come out of the distant camp, drawn 
hither by some subtle premonition of her 
master's danger, needed no further urging ; 
for she was a famous wolf-dog and a terrible 
fighter. She sprang into the gap between 
the jaded horse and the pack, her hackles 
raised, her fangs bared, and her hairy face 
wrinkled into a devilish snarl. 

As she stood there defending from danger 



48 A Wilderness Dog 

those that she loved, she was a formidable 
figure. Three feet at the shoulders she 
stood, and she tipped the beam at one hun- 
dred and twenty-five pounds. There was 
not an ounce of fat upon her, but her mus- 
cles were like whip-cords, and her motions 
were as quick as those of a wolf. 

At this new front, the pack drew off a 
few feet until they should inspect the new 
adversary, to determine her fighting quali- 
ties, and the horse slowed down to a sham- 
bling trot. 

Roderick now reloaded his revolver, and 
felt safer. His luck had changed and a 
minute later with a deliberate aim he 
knocked over the leader, a grizzled dog 
wolf. Seeing his advantage, he sent shot 
after shot into the pack. This soon demor- 
alized them and they sneaked off across the 
ice into the shadows of the forest, leaving 
Roderick and Vixen in full possession of 
the field. 



Christmas in the Big Woods 49 

When the last skulking gray form had 
disappeared, Roderick hugged the great 
deerhound with sheer delight ; but they 
lost no time in getting the team turned 
about and started for camp, which was 
barely a mile from the edge of the lake. 

Vixen mounted guard on top of the load, 
where she stood with raised hackles, growling 
and menacing, as much as to say : " Keep your 
distance, you sneaking gray cowards. I am 
protecting the load, and any one that harms 
it or my master will have to settle with 
me." 

Twenty minutes later, the tote-team, with 
the great gray hound still mounting guard, 
came into camp, and Roderick narrated his 
escape to an excited group of lumbermen. 

" Mighty close call, Rod," said Dugan 
Campbell, the boss, when he had heard the 
boy's story. " That dog's intelligence does 
beat the world. You will all remember 
how she came to me last winter when I 



$o A Wilderness Dog 

broke my leg in the windfall. She always 
seems to know if a man is in trouble. 
About half an hour ago, boy, she got ex- 
cited, and whined and scratched at the door, 
and nothing would do but she must go outside, 
and as soon as I let her out, she put off 
through the woods as though the devil was 
after her." 

" The devil was after me, and not her," 
laughed Roderick. Now that the trouble 
was over he could afford to joke about it, 
especially as he had come out of it so well. 

Then there was supper for both man and 
beast, and after that sweet sleep in a warm 
bunk in the long, low room ; but you may 
be sure that Vixen was the heroine of the 
camp for many a day. 






CHAPTER II 

VIXEN 



^^^""" 









I 



CHAPTER II 

VIXEN 

Fkom that night when the tall Irish deer- 
hound came to the aid of the beleaguered 
driver of the tote-team, a strong friendship 
sprang up between Roderick and the dog. 
They had always liked each other, but this 
tussle with the wolves seemed to cement the 
bond of friendship between them, just as 
men upon the battle-field become the best 
of friends in a few hours. 

The dog had not really belonged to 
Roderick ; but, as the manager of the lum- 
ber-camp who owned her was his uncle, he 
had always spoken of the hound as his. 
After this adventurous night, seeing the 
growing intimacy of the two, Mr. McElwain 
gave Vixen to Roderick outright, and the 
two celebrated the occasion of the transfer 



54 A Wilderness Dog 

by a long snow-shoe tramp through the 
winter woods. 

Still another sign of attachment was also 
noticed : the hound now always went to 
meet her new master on his return from 
the Point, which occurred every other day. 
She seemed to have some sixth sense that 
told her when the tote-team was within 
two or three miles of the camp. 

The hour of Roderick's return was quite 
irregular, depending upon the condition of 
the trail. Sometimes it was three or four 
o'clock in the afternoon, often it was not 
until nine o'clock at night ; but the dog 
always hit it just right. Half an hour 
before the team finally appeared in camp, 
she would start out, and her master would 
soon return with the hound riding trium- 
phantly on top of the load. 

The coarse lumbermen in the camp were 
not to the dog's liking, and she w r ould 
tolerate no familiarity on their part. If any 



Vixen H 

one transgressed the bounds of propriety, 
he was soon told, by raised hackles and 
bared teeth, to keep his distance ; but if a 
lumberman was drunk, the dog seemed to 
understand, and would not bite him, no 
matter how much he offended her. This 
rarely occurred, however, as all liquors 
were denied the camp, and it was only 
when spirits were smuggled in that they 
were to be had at all. 

Every morning when the men tumbled 
out of their bunks, the hound would also 
arise from her bed in the stables, stretch 
herself, and come into the mess-room for 
breakfast, for she was quite one of the large 
family. This was before light, and there 
was great activity in camp, especially in 
the cook-room and at the stables, where 
men and horses were being fed. Vixen 
took her mess of beans and corn bread as 
soberly as any one. 

If you pointed your finger at her and 



56 A Wilderness Dog 

smiled or laughed, her dignity would be 
offended. If you were a stranger, she 
would become so infuriated that your 
mirth would at once cease ; but, if you 
were a friend, she would slink into some 
dark corner and leave her breakfast 
unfinished. 

When the men and teams went away for 
the cutting and hauling of logs, she either 
stretched herself by the fire and slept, or 
went on long hunting-trips in the snow- 
laden forest. 

These were busy days in the woods, and 
mournful days for one who loved the 
forest. 

The keen double-bitted axes were swing- 
ing and ringing all day long, and every 
few minutes a forest giant, that had 
withstood the elements for a hundred or 
perhaps two hundred years, would be seen 
to totter, and finally, with a rush of wind, 
a crash like thunder, and a cloud of snow, 



Vixen 57 

would fall like a wounded warrior among 
its already denuded fellows. 

All day long the saws kept up their 
monotonous song of wee-waw, wee-waw ; 
while busy teamsters guided straining 
horses drawing logs to the skidway. Each 
man and each team had its particular task, 
and all did it with dispatch. 

There was little talking or jesting ; all 
were too engrossed in their work. Besides, 
inattention meant danger to life and limb. 
A moment's heedlessness on the part of a 
driver or a cant-hook man, and a huge 
log, weighing tons, would get away and 
perhaps crush some one in the tumble. 
There was also a menace in the continually 
falling trees. Often as the trees fell great 
limbs broke off and lodged in tops of other 
trees, unnoticed by the woodsmen. Per- 
haps a day or a week later, this limb 
would come hurtling down upon some un- 
suspecting head. Peaceful as the scene 



^ m 



58 A Wilderness Dog 

appeared, with the green plumes and white 
snow, there was danger on every hand. 

You have merely to look into the face of 
a lumberman to read this eternal vigilance 
that is the price of safety in the camp. His 
eyes are alert, his ears are alert, his muscles 
are tense and alert, and his whole organism 
is ready to spring this way or that at a sec- 
ond's notice. 

It was amid such busy scenes of the 
lumber-camp in the heart of the wilderness, 
that this friendship between boy and dog 
was formed, so perfect in its understanding 
that the lumbermen often said that Vixen 
knew Avhat her master was thinking just as 
well as he did. Certainly, if watching his 
every movement could have given her the 
cue to his thoughts, she possessed them in 
full. 

In February, there came warm weather 
with occasional thaws that sometimes made 
the trail impassable for several days. Then 



Vixen 59 

the two occupied their time hunting and 
tramping the wilderness. Finally, about 
the first of March, the logs were cut and all 
hands turned their attention to helping the 
teamsters and the cant-hook men, for the 
spring rains and high water would soon be 
on, and every log must be at the river in 
time for high water. 

The logging-camp was about half a mile 
from the right branch of the upper Saganal, 
which had been enlarged at this point by 
an ambitious dam. Into the lake made by 
this dam, thousands and tens of thousands 
of logs had been shot. It was intended all 
should be there when the dam was blown 
up with dynamite and, with a rush and a 
roar, the great log-drive was started upon 
its way down to the Ottawa River. 

One crisp morning the first week in 
March, Vixen arose from her snug nest in 
the corner of the stable earlier than com- 
mon, yawned, stretched her muscles, and, 



60 A Wilderness Dog 

going to the stable-door and forcing it open, 
trotted off through the gray gloom of the 
forest, without even waiting for her break- 
fast. The morning passed and she did not 
return, and, when the tote-team came in at 
night, for once she was not waiting on the 
road to greet her master. This was not all ; 
for neither that day, nor that week, nor that 
month, did she return ; in fact, she was 
never seen in camp again. 

It is with her strange disappearance from 
camp and her subsequent life that this 
story is now immediately concerned ; so let 
us follow her through the spruce gloom to 
her uncommon fate. 

The night before, while the lumbermen 
slumbered, a silent figure as tall and as 
muscular as that of the great hound stole 
through the camp and at last came stealthily 
to the stable-door. Here it paused for sev- 
eral moments until its good nose made it 
conversant with the contents of the stable. 



Vixen 61 

At first the nose was confused by the many 
odors, but finally after sifting them and 
analyzing each one, the stranger knew that 
the Irish deerhound whom he had seen the 
night of the fight upon the lake was sleep- 
ing in the corner near by. 

Once sure of this fact, he began sniffing 
and scratching softly. Instantly the hound 
awoke and stood on guard with raised 
hackles and bared fangs at the other side of 
the strong plank door. But the stranger on 
the outside still continued to sniff and the 
hound's anger subsided. 

I do not know that they appointed the 
tryst then and there ; but certain it is that 
finally the gray wolf went away, and the 
hound went back to her corner, and that 
she disappeared the following morning be- 
fore the camp was astir. 

She seemed not to be uncertain of where 
she was going, but took a straight track 
across country through labyrinths of swamp, 



62 A Wilderness Dog 

over high bluffs, and across deep gorges, 
where only instinct could guide her. 

After two hours of steady trotting, she 
came out on the top of a high bluff and saw 
the tall gray wolf waiting for her. Perhaps 
she had expected this or perhaps it was a 
mere accident. However that may be, after 
bristling and growling at her old enemy, 
the deerhound went up and sniffed noses 
with him, and after a few more prelimi- 
naries, the two trotted off into the forest, 
going side by side, apparently well satisfied 
with each other's company. 

Thus it happened that the tall hound 
obeyed an instinct which was as strong now 
as before the wolves ventured into the camp 
of man and became dogs. A wolf she was 
at the first ; so was it any wonder that 
occasionally the wolf nature reasserted 
itself, and the dog went back to the wild, 
especially when the dog kin were far away 
in the distant settlements ? 



Vixen 63 

The woodsmen laughed at Roderick, who 
was half heart-broken over the loss of his 
old friend. At first he swore that she 
would return in a day or two ; she had 
merely gone on a long hunt and would 
soon come back. 

Each night, upon the return trip from 
the Point, he fully expected to see her 
loping along the trail to meet him, as had 
been her custom ever since the fight with 
the wolves on the lake; but she never 
came, and each night he drove into camp 
dejected and lonely because of his loss. 

Meanwhile Vixen and the old gray wolf, 
whose kind she had hitherto fought with a 
mad fury, hunted and romped together, 
and the former enmity between the dog 
and its wild brother was forgotten, or rather 
there was a truce in favor of this particular 
wolf. When another dog wolf did appear 
one day, Vixen flew at him with all the old 
fury, and drove him frantically from the 



64 A Wilderness Dog 

vicinity, thus proving her dog fidelity to 
the old tradition of hatred. But the dog 
wolf did not turn upon her, true to the law 
of the pack, which does not permit a male 
wolf to fight with a female. 

By the first of April the last of the logs 
had been sent down the chute and out upon 
the lake, and the spring rains came down 
in torrents. Then the lumbermen broke 
camp, a part of them going back to the 
Point with the teams and camp equipment, 
and the rest going with the drive. 

It was a week or ten days, though, before 
the ice was really out of the river, and the 
dam was dynamited. Then there was a 
sight to make mere men shiver and hold 
their breath, when the elements, for months 
chained in ice behind the stout log dam, 
ran mad, and spent the fury that had been 
so long pent up. 

A considerable portion of the dam gave 
way. The waters roared, foamed, and 



Vixen 65 

hissed ; the logs leaped and tumbled, 
smashing into one another like battering- 
rams ; and the entire lake, filled with mil- 
lions and millions of feet of timber, seemed 
suddenly energized, and of one accord the 
drive began grinding on its way toward the 
Ottawa. The infuriated waters sucked and 
whirled, tugged and pushed, while the logs 
groaned and tumbled, fought and butted 
like living things. There were dull thuds 
and sudden sharp cracks resembling those 
of a rifle, as the whole scene resolved into a 
mountain of tumult like that of the glaciers 
of old. 

Above and about this terrible, grinding, 
death-dealing monster, leaped excited men. 
They stood upon the logs as they swayed 
and rushed. They leaped from point to 
point like mad men. Danger seemed to 
them to be of little moment so long as the 
avalanche of timber went grinding upon its 
terrible way. 



66 A Wilderness Dog 

In the commotion due to getting the 
drive started, Roderick for the first time 
forgot the loss of his dog friend ; but when, 
a month later, the drive was safe out in the 
branch, and well on its way to the mills, he 
gave up his job and went back to the scene 
of the winter's camp to seek Vixen. 

It was so forlorn a hope to find the 
faithful dog when over two months had 
elapsed since her disappearance, that Rod- 
erick said nothing about his real errand to 
his friends ; but merely gave out that he 
was going on a fishing and camping expe- 
dition. This was partly true, as the trout 
were already biting freely in the ice-cold 
waters and the camp was a necessity in this 
wilderness. He took a small rifle, some 
fishing-tackle, and a hatchet, " going light," 
as a woodsman would say. 

For a week or so he lingered in the re- 
gion of the lumber-camp. Now that the 
snow was gone, the devastation made by the 



Vixen 67 

lumbermen was even more apparent. There 
were great piles of sawdust everywhere. 
Jagged stumps and tree-tops piled mountain 
high made a desolate scene, when one 
thought of the tranquil forest with its pha- 
lanx of woodland giants that had been there 
the spring before. 

It was something of a solace to the boy's 
wounded spirit to be alone in the wilder- 
ness, but day after day went by and he was 
no nearer his quest. It had been a wild- 
goose chase anyhow, he thought, for the dog 
was dead or she would have returned to him 
long ago. This had been his own conclu- 
sion, and it was merely on the suggestion 
of an old trapper that she had gone off with 
the wolves that he had come back to look 
for her. 

One day about the middle of May, when 
he had been in the wilderness for two 
weeks, Roderick was fishing in a deep pool 
of a turbulent stream, just beneath a fall, 



68 A Wilderness Dog 

when his attention was attracted by a vio- 
lent crashing in the thicket near by. He 
had not even time to conjecture what might 
cause such a commotion, when the head of 
a fine buck flashed through the thicket and 
was gone ; but by the swaying of the bushes 
he could follow the buck's course in his mad 
flight. 

While the boy was still wondering what 
made the deer in such a hurry, the form of 
a great gray wolf slipped rapidly through 
the cover in pursuit. Roderick's sympa- 
thies were immediately aroused in behalf 
of the buck. He dropped the fish-pole, 
seized his rifle, and hurried to a point where 
he thought both the buck and the wolf 
would leave the cover and give him a chance 
for a shot ; but before the deer reached the 
open, something happened that quite 
changed his calculations. 

Suddenly from the cover, the buck was 
seen to give two or three gigantic leaps ; 



Vixen 



6 9 



then there was a great thrashing and crash- 
ing and a groan from the deer as though 
his heart were being torn out of him. 

It was useless trying to wait for the shot 
in the open, which might come too late. 
He might hit the buck, but he would frighten 
his assailant at least. This reasoning was 
done in a flash, just as the woodsman always 
thinks, and then Roderick sent two bullets 
into the cover in quick succession. 

The result was most satisfactory. At 
the shots, the buck, apparently freeing 
himself from his pursuer, came into the 
open, leaping and snorting, and Roderick 
had the satisfaction of seeing him make 
good his escape, for no wolf followed him. 

When the blowing fugitive had disap- 
peared, the boy reloaded his rifle and went 
into the cover to see what effect, if any, his 
shots had taken. He had marked the spot 
where the struggle had occurred and had no 
difficulty in locating it. In the midst of 



yo A Wilderness Dog 

the thicket he stumbled upon a might}'' wolf 
gasping in the last death-throes. But no, 
it was not a wolf, it was a dog. Then a wild, 
heart-broken cry came from the boy's lips 
as he gazed, horror-stricken, upon the 
prostrate figure. 

It was Vixen, his own Vixen, that the 
bullet had found ; Vixen gone back to the 
wolves and turned venison killer. Roderick 
knelt beside the dying dog and held her 
head in his lap, unmindful of the blood 
that dripped freely upon his hunting-shirt. 
He caressed the hairy face, and fondled the 
long ears, and the old hound licked his 
hands in forgiveness of the fatal shot. So, 
by the cruel caprice of fate, the faithful dog, 
who had come to his aid in his hour of peril, 
was laid low by her master's bullet, and he 
could do nothing but pour out his heart's love 
in broken sentences, as the light of intelli- 
gence and love faded from her eyes, until 
she at last stretched out dead at his feet. 



Vixen 7 1 

For more than an hour he sat there per- 
fectly motionless, although he knew that the 
deep chest no longer drew breath. This was 
his last act of love, of atonement for the mis- 
take which was the fault of neither. Then, 
with his hatchet and some sharp sticks, he 
dug a grave, that her mate, the great gray 
wolf, might not find her, and covered her 
with the cool sweet earth which is the wind- 
ing-sheet of dog and man alike. 

But this was not until he had noted that 
her breasts were swollen with milk ; a fact 
that Roderick well knew meant a litter of 
wolf-dogs somewhere in the vicinity, who 
would now starve unless he could find 
them, and thus there would be a double 
tragedy on his hands. 



CHAPTER III 
THE DEN IN THE ROCKS 



CHAPTER III 

THE DEN IN THE ROCKS 

When the old he-wolf saw his mate fall, 
kicking in her death struggle, he under- 
stood at once the danger at hand. It did 
not need the crack of the rifle and the scent 
of powder, or that most repugnant of all 
scents, the man taint, to tell him that he 
was upon perilous ground. His percep- 
tions were so fine that he even knew this 
particular man to be he whom the wolves 
had hunted that winter's night upon the 
lake. 

Then, as now, this man creature had been 
most destructive of his kind, so he melted 
like a gray shadow into the deepest of the 
cover, and Roderick did not see him again. 

There is a great difference among wild 



7 6 A Wilderness Dog 

creatures in the manner of their getting out 
of sight in time of danger. The bear goes 
blunderingly, making considerable racket, 
but the members of the cat family slink 
away as silently as shadows. Most dogs are 
more or less noisy in going through thick 
cover, but their brother, the wolf, has 
caught the cat habit of slinking, and his 
neutral color helps him to disappear 
readily. 

When he had gained a sufficient distance 
from the cover to permit it, the old wolf 
broke into his accustomed lope, and did not 
stop until he had put several miles between 
himself and the scene of the tragedy. 

That night when the moon was high 
above the eastern hilltops, he came back 
and went carefully over all the ground, be- 
ginning with the man's footsteps at the pool 
where he had been fishing. He followed 
the scent thence to the spot where the deer- 
hound had fallen, and near by he dis- 



The Den in the Rocks 77 

covered a fresh mound of dirt. His good 
nose told him that his dead mate was 
buried beneath. To make sure of this, he 
dug down a foot or two, until he could 
touch her cold, lifeless nose, after which he 
carefully scratched back the dirt. 

In time of famine, or even moderate 
hunger, he would have eaten her ; but his 
belly was full, so the grave in the thicket 
was not profaned. He then followed 
Roderick's trail back to his camp, and 
there sat upon his tail for an hour, watch- 
ing the embers of the dying camp-fire. 

At last he went away, and an hour later 
the young man was roused by a series of 
long-drawn, desolate howls ; howls that rose 
and swelled in mighty volume until they 
filled the listening woods. Although they 
came from the throat of a wolf, yet were 
these cries the very embodiment of grief, 
anguish unspeakable, mournful as the 
minor cadences of the wind and the waters. 



78 A Wilderness Dog 

Finally the sounds so disturbed Roderick 
that he got up and rekindled his camp-fire. 

" Gol durn it. I wish he would shut up," 
he muttered. " Any one would think to 
hear him take on that he felt as bad about 
it as I do." 

After a while, to the boy's great relief, 
the cries ceased. The old wolf in his grief 
had bethought him of the litter of wolf 
whelps. He did not know just where the 
den was situated, for his mate had guarded 
this secret well, but he knew about where 
it was. 

The mother wolf is usually very jealous 
of her young and does not reveal their place 
of hiding to her lord ; partly because many 
males, including the big cats, have a rather 
horrible habit of eating their offspring if 
they find them before they get their eyes 
open. After the young have reached the 
frolicsome stage, they will not molest them. 
The male deer will also frequently kill the 



The Den in the Rocks 79 

fawn, especially if it happens to be a male. 
Even at that tender age, he probably 
recognizes a possible rival. 

It took but an hour of diligent hunting, 
assisted as he was by his good nose and his 
keen instinct, for the old wolf to locate the 
den. He went in and lay down beside the 
whelps, who at once crowded into his flanks 
to nurse. This made the old wolf nervous 
and immediately suggested the disadvantage 
he would experience in feeding the pups. 
Fortunately they were five or six weeks 
old and could be shifted to a meat diet if it 
was a question of starvation. 

At sight and scent of the wriggling whelps, 
the old wolfs responsibility pressed hard 
upon him. He had hunted food for his 
mate for the past few weeks, but the im- 
mediate mothering had not been his, and 
now the new difficulty troubled him. 

Of one thing he felt certain. This country 
was not a safe place for his offspring, so he 



80 A Wilderness Dog 

picked one of them up in his great jaws, 
and trotted off with it into the outer world 
to which the whelps had never penetrated. 
Half an hour later he came back for another, 
and still later for the third ; so that, when 
the new day dawned, the family had shifted 
its abode several miles to the northward, 
where the country was still more wild and 
rugged. 

It was providential, from the wolfs stand- 
point, that he did so, for Roderick, too, was 
searching for the litter of wolf puppies, and 
by a mere chance found the den on the 
second day of his search ; but it was quite 
empty. This was a great disappointment 
to him, as he had hoped for a whelp that he 
might atone to it for the unlucky shot which 
killed the mother. The signs in the wolf 
den were perplexing. It might not be the 
right den after all, although he felt sure it 
had been inhabited by wolves recently. 
Perhaps the real den was somewhere near by, 



The Den in the Rocks 81 

and Vixen's puppies were doomed to slow 
starvation. So much did this idea work 
upon the boy's feelings, that he spent still 
another day searching ; but was finally 
obliged to give it up, and go on to the log- 
drive, which by this time was far down the 
river. 

About the new den which the old wolf had 
selected for his family, he kept vigilant 
guard. For two days the whelps refused to 
change from a milk to a meat diet, but 
necessity finally conquered. 

At first the wolf despaired of finding any- 
thing that they could eat, but he happened 
upon a sitting of partridge eggs, and these 
delicacies seemed to give the whelps just 
the start they needed. In a few days they 
were eating mice and squirrels, and even 
the partridge whose eggs had served them 
in good stead. 

There were two things about the whelps 
that greatly distressed their guardian, and 



82 A Wilderness Dog 

that was their whining and whimpering 
when hungry, and their continual nestling 
when he approached them. For his own 
part he was dignified and quiet, and so 
much commotion was extremely annoying. 

He was often absent from the den for 
hours, and when he pretended to be at home, 
he usually lay outside, watching with his 
yellow, all-seeing eyes everything that 
moved within the radius of his vision. He 
would lie so quiet that he might have been 
a great gray rock, or almost anything rather 
than a mass of intense muscles and sin- 
ews ; a body alert, hungry, terrible in its 
destructive powers. 

To the whelps in the den, the new quar- 
ters were very much like the old. Both 
were dark, and, so far as they were con- 
cerned, equally suited to their needs. One 
is not particular when he spends most of 
his time sleeping. As they grew older, 
however, this habit, with which all young 



The Den in the Rocks 83 

things seem to be born, was less and less 
persistent, and they sometimes spent an 
hour tumbling and rolling about, chewing 
one another's ears, closing upon one another's 
throats in imitation of the death grip that 
in later life would be so important. 

The best quality of the den was that it 
was dry, so, no matter how cold and 
wet it was outside, this ball of wriggling 
wolf whelps was always warm and comfort- 
able. The den had many sharp points and 
angles, and also holes and hummocks. Into 
one of these near the nest a pup would often 
roll, and there he would lie upon his back, 
kicking and whimpering, not knowing how 
to get out of the dilemma. He would con- 
tinue to struggle until at last by a desperate 
effort he would get upon his feet, and then 
set himself the task of climbing out of the 
hole. The cries of his mates who missed 
him from the nest would give him the right 
direction and he would finally get safely 



sm 



84 A Wilderness Dog 

back, probably feeling that he had been 
upon a long journey, and had had quite a 
narrow escape. 

Three sides of the den were black, and 
hurt when one ran his nose against them. 
The fourth side was whiter than the others 
and one could go much farther in this di- 
rection than in any other. If he ventured 
too far, however, there was usually a warn- 
ing growl from the old wolf on guard. The 
whelp venturing near the mouth of the den 
usually interpreted this growl as meaning, 
" Go back or I shall nip you," and the pup 
always obeyed. 

A sharp little nip was the form of pun- 
ishment that the old wolf used for correct- 
ing the habits of his offspring. The nip 
was generally administered when a whelp 
worried him, or was too noisy ; but he left 
them as much alone as possible, for both 
their outcries for food and their romping 
made him nervous. 



The Den in the Rocks 



85 



One day the largest and most courageous 
of the whelps went farther and farther to- 
ward the light at the mouth of the den. 
The old wolf was off hunting, so the warn- 
ing growl was not given. Step by step the 
pup went forward, until at last he stood in 
the mouth of the den in the full blaze of 
the morning light. The sun was so bright 
and his young eyes were so long used to 
semi-darkness that he winked and blinked, 
and was finally forced to shut them. He 
also felt that this extreme light was a men- 
ace, a danger, so he growled fiercely, and 
ruffled up the hair on his neck ; he would 
frighten this strange brightness away. 
When he opened his eyes, it was still there, 
so he growled again, a deeper and fiercer 
growl than before. Still it persisted. By 
this time he was getting used to the light ; 
it did not hurt him as he had expected, so 
he finally ceased his growling and looked 
about. 



M 



86 A Wilderness Dog 

Away in every direction stretched the 
strange whiteness, and the outside world 
was so large and new that it terrified him ; 
he slunk back toward the dark, again 
growling. But by degrees he came forward 
again, and at last got used to the largeness 
of the outer world, just as he had to the 
light. 

Step by step he crept, until at last he 
reached the edge of a shelf, which fell off 
sharply two or three feet to the ground be- 
neath. This was the old wolfs favorite 
seat, and the whelp as he sat there was a very 
good miniature of his sire. 

To him holes and hummocks looked very 
much alike. His eyes had not learned per- 
spective, or to discriminate between earth 
and atmosphere. He felt just as confident 
that he could walk upon the air beneath 
the shelf as upon the solid rock, so he took 
a step forward. As a consequence he went 
headlong over the edge of the rock, and 



The Den in the Rocks 87 

rolled over and over, at last bringing up at 
the bottom with a thump that made him 
" ki-yi " with might and main. These 
sounds sent his two companions, who were 
also investigating the light, scurrying back 
to the nest, where they cuddled closely to- 
gether for mutual protection. What dread- 
ful thing had happened to their brother? 
Would it come to them next? How far 
away he sounded I Was the old wolf pun- 
ishing him ? These were the things that 
they must have thought, if they thought 
at all. 

Meanwhile the adventurer, at the foot of 
the rock, soon discovered that he was not 
killed, ceased his whimpering, and sat up, 
looking about him at the great world. 
When he had been upon the shelf within 
easy reach of the den, he felt quite safe ; 
but now a strange terror seized him. He 
was so far from home and his nose was 
bleeding. Altogether he was a sorry sight 



■■■w^" 



88 A Wilderness Dog 

as he cowered against the rock, waiting for 
he knew not what. 

Presently a great gray shape loomed up 
in the bushes near by, and the whelp, per- 
ceiving it, squeezed up closer to the rock 
that he might not be discovered. Even at 
that early age the trick of hiding from all 
that was strange asserted itself. Wolves 
had hidden and slunk from danger for so 
many generations, that this whelp, half 
wolf and half dog, did it instinctively, as 
part of his hereditary knowledge. 

Still, he did not escape the notice of the 
great gray figure. With a snarl, it sprang 
forward, and strong jaws seized the culprit 
by the scruff of the neck. Then the two 
whelps cowering in the den heard a " ki-yi- 
ing," beside which the cries that their 
brother had uttered when he fell were tame. 
The old wolf shook the cub until it seemed 
as though he w r ould slip out of his rather 
loose skin. The poor little offender flopped 



The Den in the Rocks 89 

this way and that, his legs and ears snap- 
ping and his loose joints fairly outdoing 
themselves for flexibility. 

Finally, with a growl, the like of which 
had never been heard in the den before, the 
old fury sprang inside and deposited the 
culprit, too spent now even to sob, beside 
his brothers, and stood growling over the 
three. The fate of the one was to be a 
warning to the others. This would be their 
lot if they ventured to the outside world as 
he had done. The punishment had been 
so terrible that the three never forgot the 
lesson, especially he to whom the correction 
had fallen. From that day he was the best 
behaved of all the litter. 

About a week after the mishap to the 
venturesome whelp, the old wolf came forth 
one morning and reconnoitered very care- 
fully, circling about the den in all direc- 
tions, and testing the wind critically with 
his good nose. He seemed satisfied that no 



90 A Wilderness Dog 

danger lurked near the den, and went back 
to its entrance. There he stood waiting for 
a few seconds and then two of the whelps 
came creeping into the outer world. They 
had never dared to do this before or even to 
approach very near to the mouth of the den. 
Yet here they were coming out into the 
sunlight, apparently unbidden. The old 
wolf had made no sound, but they evidently 
understood that they had his consent at last. 

Any farm-boy who has lain in the grass 
and watched an old fox bring forth the fox- 
kits to play will tell you that the mother 
fox rarely utters a sound in governing them. 
If they stray too far into dangerous cover, 
she will simply look at them, and the little 
foxes will be seen to hesitate as though they 
feel the call, but cannot locate it. Then 
they will turn, and seeing their mother, 
hurry back with an apologetic air. 

It was by some such signal as this that 
the young wolf whelps knew that the griz- 



The Den in the Rocks 91 

zled wolf, their father, had given permission 
for them to come forth. The last of all the 
litter to take advantage of the invitation 
was he who had first ventured out on his 
own account ; when he did come, it was 
with hesitation, as though he hardly dared 
to believe the good news, after his recent 
sorry experience. 

The great bright world must have looked 
like an endless space to the winking, blink- 
ing cubs as they huddled together or crowded 
about the old wolf. After the novelty had 
worn off, the guardian of the litter would 
not allow them to come near him, but pre- 
ferred that they should explore and learn 
of the outer world for themselves. He sat 
upon his haunches while the whelps went 
creeping, with many halts and feints, from 
point to point ; but at the slightest sound 
they started and came scurrying back to 
him. 

Now that they were out in the open, one 



"■ 



92 A Wilderness Dog 

could see what they looked like. One of 
the whelps had bred as a perfect wolf, with 
the markings and build of a wolf. One was 
a very fair cross between his sire and the old 
Irish deerhound, for he had patches of 
brown sprinkled through his coat, and was 
taller and more rangey than his brothers. 
The third whelp was a perfect wolf with the 
exception that his face was covered with the 
long coarse hair of the deerhound. 

The old wolf seemed troubled by the 
looks of the second pup ; perhaps he did 
not understand the patches of brown; at 
least there was something about this off- 
spring that displeased him. At first he had 
half a mind to disown the whelp, and 
growled savagely whenever the unfortunate 
one came near. He finally seemed to think 
better of it and permitted the mongrel to 
remain as one of the family, though clearly 
in disfavor. 

The strongest and most courageous of all 



The Den in the Rocks 93 

the litter was he with the hairs upon the 
face, who seemed to be the old wolfs favorite. 
When they were fed, he it was who always 
got the lion's share. The old wolf also per- 
mitted him to go farther from the den than 
any of the others, because he felt at once 
that he was a promising whelp who could 
look after himself. 

For an hour or two the pups went creep- 
ing about, tumbling into holes and then 
scrambling out again with considerable 
fright, and having all sorts of adventures 
which probably seemed very important to 
their young minds. Finally, of one ac- 
cord, they all came running to the old wolf, 
and then went scurrying into the den. 
Again there had been no sound of command, 
yet perfect obedience. 

After their frolic they were tired, and 
soon were curled up in a ball, sleeping. 
An hour later when he of the hairy face, 
whom we will call Hairface, awoke and 



■™ 



94 A Wilderness Dog 

crept to the entrance of the den, the old 
wolf had disappeared, and he did not return 
until evening. 

That first day in the open proved to be 
the forerunner of daily excursions into a 
wonderful world, full of surprises and with 
many things of which to be afraid. Each 
day the old wolf took them farther from 
home, until in a month's time they were 
often a mile from the den. 

At first the game which they hunted was 
very small. Stalking grasshoppers and 
crickets may seem not very exciting sport, 
but when the grasshopper is one's first kill, 
it may be different ; at least the young 
wolves thought so. They would go creep- 
ing stealthily through the weeds and grasses 
until game was discovered, when they 
would rush in, and usually lose the grass- 
hopper. Many failures soon taught them 
that it was better to go slowly even at the 
last and not rush until within striking 



The Den in the Rocks 95 

distance. They tore open the ends of rotten 
logs and ate grubs, but this secret was 
taught them by the old wolf. He seemed 
never to take any pains to teach them, but 
when he did anything important, he usually 
waited until they had gathered about to 
watch. 

Nearly all young animals are more or 
less imitative ; they learn from observing 
their elders. This fact is taken advantage 
of by dog-trainers who often put an old 
dog into the field and let the puppies watch 
it hunt. It is also always desirable to have 
a few good old hounds in a pack, that the 
young ones may learn properly. 

After the grasshopper hunting came some 
real adventures by moonlight, in search of 
field-mice. These shy little fellows would 
be running in their tunnels under the 
grass-roots, squeaking away and having 
the finest kind of times when the wolf 
whelps came forth on their quest. It was 



9 6 



A Wilderness Dog 



almost useless to seek them by daylight, for 
then they were quiet. At first the old 
wolf called the whelps to a runway which 
he located in the grass, and they smelled 
the scent, until they knew mice. Then all 
four sat down by the runway to wait, each 
as motionless as a statue. 

Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes went by, 
and only the usual night sounds, like the 
sighing of the wind and the hooting of an 
owl, came to their straining ears. At last 
Hairface, who was the most keen of the 
pups, thought he heard a far-away squeak, 
though it was so slight that he could not 
be sure. In the excitement of the moment 
he moved ever so little, and cocked his 
head a little more on one side, that he 
might the better catch the sound. But the 
old hunter glared at him so fiercely when 
he stirred, that he was powerless to move 
from where he was, and thenceforward 
remained as motionless as a gray boulder 



The Den in the Rocks 97 

might have been in his place. The sound 
that he thought he heard had been real, 
and soon slight little squeaks came to the 
ears of the waiting wolves from the runways 
under the grass. 

Presently the old wolf discerned a slight 
motion in the grass near by, and his intense 
look showed the whelps from which way 
the game was coming. Nearer and nearer 
drew the small prey, occasionally uttering 
his tiny squeak. When just opposite the 
point where the grizzled hunter sat, the old 
wolf pounced upon the spot where the grass 
wriggled ; by putting one paw down hard 
upon the runway in front of the mouse and 
the other behind, he held him fast. It was 
but the matter of a second to poke open the 
grass with his sharp nose, and crush the 
field-mouse with a bite. But the old wolf 
did not eat the mouse. Instead, he gave it to 
his favorite, Hairface, while the other whelps 
looked on, licking their chops greedily. 



98 A Wilderness Dog 

This may seem like very small quarry 
for wolves, and indeed it was, but it served 
two purposes. First, it taught them the 
exciting game of hunting ; and, second, it 
never does in the wild to despise anything 
that is meat. Just such bits as these mice, 
or even grubs dug from old rotten logs, 
might some day stand between the whelps 
and starvation. 

It was useless to watch this same runway 
at this spot any longer, so the old wolf led 
them to another runway, and the fun began 
again. This time they did not have to wait 
so long, for the moon was now bright, and 
the frolics of the mice were in full swing. 

The next mouse was caught in just the 
same manner as the first, and this the old 
hunter gave to the whelp who most re- 
sembled him, whom we will call the Wolf; 
while the poor Mongrel, who was half dog 
in looks, had to wait until the last. 

When each had been fed from the results 



The Den in the Rocks 99 

of the hunt, all took their places as before 
by a new runway, and the old hunter signi- 
fied to Hairface that he might make the 
kill this time. The favored whelp was all 
excitement and could hardly wait for his 
mouse to come along. When it did at last 
appear, he jumped too soon, and the mouse 
ran squeaking back along the tunnel. It 
was a case of being overanxious, the com- 
mon fault of all young hunters ; so Hair- 
face was not to be blamed, although he felt 
quite ashamed. This failure spoiled the 
runway even more effectively than if the 
mouse had been killed, for he would go 
back along the path by which he had come 
and notify all his relatives of the danger. 
A new runway was therefore sought at some 
distance. 

This time they had a long wait. When 
Hairface's mouse did at last appear, he 
waited until it was directly opposite him, 
then planted his paws upon it, and 



lOO 



A Wilderness Dog 



swooped it up into his mouth, grass and all, 
which feat seemed greatly to please the old 
wolf. They did not quit until each of the 
whelps had caught his mouse. 

This moonlight mouse-hunting was realty 
a sort of child-play for whelps destined to 
become mighty hunters among wild beasts, 
but here was the very best kind of practice, 
and here they learned nearly all the rules 
of the game ; all, in fact, except courage. 
They learned patience, how to turn one's 
self into a bush or a boulder, not to be too 
eager, and to strike at the right moment. 



CHAPTER IV 
THE KILLERS 



CHAPTER IV 

THE KILLERS 

The Scriptures tell us that the wild beast 
seeks his prey from God, meaning that 
through a God-given instinct he kills 
whenever he is hungry. In the same way 
it may be said that man seeks his meat 
from God, for he kills no less freely than 
do the wild beasts. 

As cruel as the sea is the law of subsist- 
ence, whereby the things God has made of 
necessity war constantly upon one another. 
It is almost heart-breaking, when we stop 
to consider, that the dainty bunny, with 
his twitching nose, and his wig-wagging 
ears, at once so gentle and so shy, should 
be brought into the world, that half a score 
of beasts and birds, each less attractive and 
less lovable than himself, may sustain life. 



104 



A Wilderness Dog 



Yet this is the case, for wherever you find 
the trail of the rabbit, it is a trail of blood. 

Mice, too, inoffensive little field and 
wood-mice, beautifully fashioned and in- 
teresting in all their ways, cannot even 
play in their runways under the grass-roots 
on a moonlight night without occasionally 
yielding up their lives. 

So if the old gray wolf and his three 
hungry whelps sought their meat wherever 
they could find it, and killed savagely, they 
were but wild beasts obeying a God-given 
instinct and fighting the battle of life in an 
altogether creditable manner. 

To be a poor hunter, and to miss where 
one tries to kill, is a much greater crime 
in wolf law than to kill an animal that 
one cannot wholly eat ; for on the morrow 
the hunting may be poor, and then the 
left-over bits will prove most acceptable. 

The old wolf, of course, had no theories 
about these things, and he broke the back 



The Killers 105 



of a fox or a rabbit with as little compunc- 
tion as he would have chewed a straw. In 
fact, he enjoyed it, for he was a killer. 
The sound of crunching bones between 
his teeth was sweet music to his ears and 
warm blood tickled his palate as did no 
other fluid. 

The moonlight hunt for meadow-mice 
was merely the beginning. Here it was 
that the young wolves took their first les- 
son, but they soon tried larger game. It 
took the wolf two or three days to secure 
the object lesson that he wanted next ; 
but, as he was a patient hunter, he at 
last succeeded. Poor Mr. Woodchuck came 
to the den of the wolves, kicking in the 
jaws of the old hunter, for he had not 
killed him, but merely caught him alive 
that he might let the whelps worry him 
to death. 

When the old wolf freed him near the 
mouth of the den, he backed up to the 




106 A Wilderness Dog 

boulder, and stood on his hind legs, a sorry 
little figure, righting for his life against 
great odds, yet game to the end. Hairface 
was the first to rush in upon him and he 
got a savage slash in the face, which caused 
him to draw back and look with aston- 
ishment at the woodchuck. Mice had 
never behaved in this manner. Before, 
the battle had been entirely one-sided. 
Now the question of courage came in. 
This was just what the old wolf had 
looked for. His whelps could not always 
kill mice. They would never be wolves 
if they did. They must learn to punish and 
to be punished, and to fight the battle to kill. 
The Wolf next tried his luck with the 
woodchuck, and got a bad bite in the leg, 
which made him hold up his paw and look 
mournfully at it. All this time their sire 
sat on his haunches looking on gravely ; 
but at this point, getting out of patience 
with the slow way jn which the battle 






The Killers 107 



was going, he reached over and caught 
the valiant woodchuck by the scruff of 
the neck and whirled him over on his 
back. The whelps rushed in and each got 
a hold, but could simply kill him by 
inches. Little by little the fighting waned, 
as the valiant old woodchuck's strength 
gave out, until at last he no longer strug- 
gled. When all was over, it was Hairface 
who had the death grip. He had learned 
the trick ; in after years he was always first 
to get this grip, and none were so quick 
or so strong as to overcome him. 

Having learned woodchuck, the old wolf 
now took the whelps woodchuck hunting, 
and the first morning they had great luck. 
They surprised old Mother Woodchuck 
and the whole family feeding, and there 
was a lively scramble for the hole. Two 
of the young woodchucks went the way of 
their sire, Hairface killing one, and the old 
wolf the other. 



io8 A Wilderness Dog 

This was nothing, however, to the excite- 
ment that they felt when the old wolf 
would post the three whelps on one side 
of a cover, where they lay as quietly as 
three gray logs, while he beat the bush for 
them, driving whatever there might be of 
game into the ambush. The old wolf would 
quarter back and forth like a pointer, and 
nothing escaped his good nose and keen 
vision. 

Often their prey got away, for the whelps 
were not experienced hunters, and it really 
needed two old wolves to play this game 
well ; — one to beat the bush, and the other 
to make the kill when once the quarry was 
put up. 

Their deadly work was done quietly and 
with dispatch. There was little snapping 
or snarling, once their puppy hood worry- 
ing habit had worn off. Only the Mongrel 
persisted in growling and barking, which 
greatly annoyed the old wolf, who saw in 



The Killers 109 



it a sign of weakness. His motto was, 
11 Act, and say nothing." 

Upon a sandy side-hill half a mile from 
the wolf-den, overlooking a snug little val- 
ley, was another family as interesting as 
the wolves ; in fact, they resembled the 
wolves in many ways. The family in ques- 
tion was a litter of foxes. They did not 
live in a den, but in a burrow. The bur- 
row was in a sandy side-hill so that it would 
be dry. A fox likes to have his front door 
at a good altitude so that he may look off 
across the country when he comes forth in 
the morning. 

This burrow ran zigzag back into the 
side-hill for fifteen or twenty feet, although 
it did not reach a depth of more than four 
or five feet ; but if one had attempted to 
dig out this family he would have found~it 
an all-day job. The quickest way to dig 
out a litter of foxes is to get the direction of 
the burrow with a pole, and then sink a 



no 



A Wilderness Dog 



hole eight or ten feet from the mouth, until 
you meet the burrow. From this point you 
can again get the direction of the under- 
ground passage, and sink another well still 
farther on. In this way, by sinking three 
or four wells, you can find the nest at the 
end of the burrow without uncovering the 
whole of the passage. 

The foxes had been brought forth from 
their den at a certain age, just as the wolves 
had been, and introduced to the outside 
world. Like the young wolves, they learned 
grasshopper hunting, and thought it great 
sport. They were also initiated into the 
mysteries of mice-hunting, but for them 
mice would always be a staple, so it was not 
mere play in their case. 

One day, about the first of September, the 
old mother fox took her litter of four prom- 
ising whelps down to a narrow strip of 
cover, which was fringed with ripening 
blackberries. She had discovered that this 



The Killers 1 1 1 



was the favorite feeding-ground of a bevy of 
spruce partridges, who usually came into 
this cover in the late afternoon. The old 
fox wished to have the whelps trail the 
partridges and perhaps get a young bird or 
two. When half-grown, they will often 
squat and let a fox come up within spring- 
ing distance. 

The fox family had just entered this 
cover, and were busy looking for signs of 
the partridges, when the wolf family ap- 
peared. The old hunter posted his three 
half-grown whelps on one side of the cover, 
while he himself began beating the bush. 
He had not gone far when he struck the 
fresh trail of the fox family, and his good 
nose at once told him what was afoot. At 
the thought of the three waiting hunters 
outside the bush, his eyes glittered phos- 
phorescently, and he began beating the cover 
diligently, though with care that nothing 
should escape the way that he had just 



112 A Wilderness Dog 

come. But if the wolf had a keen nose, the 
old fox had an equally good one, and as the 
hunter made considerable noise, she soon 
scented danger. 

She hastened to slip her family out at the 
other side of the cover and so to make their 
escape ; but, instead ran them immediately 
into the way of the three waiting wolf 
whelps. Then there was a scurry and a 
scuffle that was anything but play. Lithe 
red forms flashed in and out of the bushes, 
closely followed by larger gray ones. There 
was twisting and turning, dodging and 
doubling, and then at last came the death 
struggles. 

Hairface singled out one of the foxes for 
his own and went after it like the wind. 
Again and again he was almost successful, 
but by a sharp twist in the trail, his victim 
would elude him. At last he was fairly 
alongside and his strong jaws closed upon 
the fox just behind the shoulder ; with a 



The Killers 113 



sharp bite and a jerk, he broke young Rey- 
nard's back and stretched him upon the 
ground. 

When this little flurry in the cover had 
ceased, it was seen that the wolves had 
bagged two of the young foxes and the dam 
herself, the old wolf having run her down 
and killed her while the whelps were pur- 
suing the young foxes. Of the family of 
^.ve, who themselves had been looking with 
bloodthirsty appetites for the partridge 
family often, only two now remained, and 
they were so badly frightened that they 
left that part of the country, and never 
came back. Thus it ever was and ever 
will be. The big game continually eat the 
smaller. 

Over two ranges of hills and across two 
streams to the northward, living partly 
upon the streams, where lily-pads were 
plenty, and partly in the wooded hills, 
where they could escape the flies in the hot 



U4 -A Wilderness Dog 

weather, there dwelt a doe and a little 
dappled fawn. 

They killed nothing that crawled, ran, or 
flew, yet themselves were in constant danger. 
The lynx viewed them from the thicket 
with greedy eyes ; the bear licked his chops 
hungrily whenever he caught sight of them ; 
and the wolves warred constantly upon the 
deer family, and were their most deadly foe. 
Even the great bald eagle, sweeping in 
majestic circles far up in the peaceful blue 
heavens, had once seen and swooped for the 
fawn ; but some instinct had warned the 
doe of peril, and she had hurried her charge 
into thick cover just in time to escape 
the cruel talons. This was when the 
fawn was but a few days old ; now he was 
a sleek little fellow of five or six months, 
who could nibble at the grass-heads as 
busily, if not as effectively, as his mother. 

In an evil hour for them the two crossed 
the streams and the rugged hills that lay 



The Killers 1 1 5 



between them and the range of the wolves, 
and came over into the country of the gray 
hunters. The old wolf discovered their 
presence almost the day of their arrival, 
and took the whelps out, that they might 
learn the scent of deer. He did not strike 
at once, for it was good practice for the 
whelps to trail the doe and the fawn, observ- 
ing their ways and getting used to the deer 
family, who would always be important in 
their after-lives. 

If they had shown any signs of uneasiness, 
or of quitting the country, the old hunter 
would have given the word ; but he felt 
quite safe and could afford to abide his 
time. One morning early in October, when 
the air was keener than it had yet been and 
the frost along the watercourses was heavy, 
the wolf pack broke their fast on venison. 

There was something about this keen 
autumn air that gave a new zest to the 
appetite. The whelps were all excitement 



n6 A Wilderness Dog 

as the old wolf led the way down to a clump 
of spruces where the doe and the fawn usually 
spent the night. They seemed to read his 
thought, and to know without being told 
what was afoot. 

Even Mr. Burroughs, guarded as he is in 
admitting intelligence in the brute creation, 
says that birds and animals appear to have 
a mode of communication which we do not 
understand, and which he thinks may pos- 
sibly be telepathy. 

The old wolf stationed his companions 
about the thicket, while he went inside to 
start out the deer family. They did not 
need any special frightening, for the sight 
of him was enough to drive the doe, with 
her helpless fawn, frantic ; a deer becomes 
frenzied and loses its head sooner than al- 
most any other of the wild creatures. But 
there was another cause for the doe's fear, 
for something told her that the truce be- 
tween her and the wolves was over. 



The Killers 117 



It was not the grizzled veteran's plan to 
kill the fawn himself; for what was the 
killing of one fawn to him, when he had 
killed scores? He would give the whelps 
the first chance, and, if they failed, would 
come in as a reserve. So, by a clever dash 
at the two, he separated the fawn from its 
mother, and then drove her at a breakneck 
pace in an opposite direction. 

The three young hunters took their cue 
immediately and went after the fawn. This 
was new game for them, and they did not 
understand reaching for the throat grip, but 
contented themselves with snapping at his 
legs. Up and down the terrified little deer 
raced, bleating pitifully and seeking to 
elude his pursuers. 

Finally, Hairface caught him fairly by the 
hind leg and brought him to earth, and the 
Wolf and the Mongrel both pounced upon 
him. When the old wolf returned from 
running the doe out of the country, the 



1 1 8 A Wilderness Dog 

fawn was dead, and the three bloodthirsty 
hunters were gorging themselves just as 
any hungry beasts might be expected to do. 

Does it seem cruel to you that the dainty 
little fawn, who had never done anything 
worse than to nibble grass-heads and suck 
his mother's udders, should be pulled down 
to glut the appetite of wilderness dogs ? At 
first thought, perhaps it does ; but let us 
look at it from the wolf standpoint. 

The whelps were lank and needed meat 
to fill them out and to give them strength 
for the coming winter. They had not 
killed for sport as man might have done, 
but for meat. They did not kill more than 
they wanted for their immediate hunger, 
and they killed quickly and humanely. 
This, too, was the way of their kind ; what 
wolves had done from the days of the first 
wolf. Venison was to them legitimate meat ; 
meat that could be had for the taking ; meat 
that belonged to them, just as the creatures 



The Killers 119 



of the wild belong to any good hunter, be 
he two-legged or four-legged. 

Is it not better to kill a deer because one 
is hungry, than for the mere pleasure of 
mounting its head and satisfying one's self 
as to how it looks? If we condemn the 
wolves for seeking their meat from God, 
what shall we say of the hunters who have 
devastated the great plains and robbed the 
forest of its first denizens, merely for sport ? 



CHAPTER V 
GOOD HUNTING 



CHAPTER V 

GOOD HUNTING 

As early as possible in the course of their 
education, the old wolf introduced the 
whelps to that most dreaded of all scents, 
the man scent. It was not every day, how- 
ever, that man penetrated to these remote 
regions and the opportunity did not offer 
itself until a Canuck wood-chopper came 
into the wild to cut his winter supply. He 
did not approach very near to the den 
among the rocks, but the wolf family had 
by this time extended their operations for 
miles in every direction. Distance was 
nothing to these tall, gaunt, galloping 
wilderness dogs. 

The wood-chopper, Alec Roberts by 
name, came into the forest each year and 
builded himself a shack while he was en- 



124 -A Wilderness Dog 

gaged in his work. He did this in the 
early fall, but did not draw the wood until 
snow came. 

For several days the wolf family slunk 
about where Alec labored, watching him, 
but taking good care that he did not see 
them. To the whelps he seemed not as 
much a menace as to the old leader, who 
had felt man's power too often to doubt it. 
It is probable, too, that the puppies also 
inherited from their mother a natural 
liking for man, and so were inclined to be 
friendly. The old wolf, by his actions, 
said : " This is a terrible enemy, more to be 
feared than all others ; " but their natural 
instincts said : " He is not our enemy. We 
have known him somewhere before." 

So much was this the case that, when 
they one night discovered the wood-chop- 
per's coat, which he had left upon a wood- 
pile, and the old wolf took the cubs to 
smell the garment of this dreadful man 



Good Hunting 1 25 

creature, the Mongrel did not even bristle 
with fear when he sniffed the coat, but 
actually wagged his tail. This so exasper- 
ated the old fury that he fell upon the 
whelp and nearly throttled him in his anger. 
The thing about the wood-chopper that 
most interested and puzzled the wolf family 
was his wood-cutting. They would sit in 
the shadows, watching for an hour at a 
time while the creature, who had such 
wonderful powers, stood upon his hind 
legs, — in fact, that was the only way that he 
ever stood, — and whacked away upon the 
tree against which he seemed to have a great 
spite. Finally, as the tree began to sway, 
they would get uneasy, and when at last it 
fell with a rush of wind and a thunderous 
sound that shook the forest, all would slink 
away. It was usually several minutes be- 
fore they could again get up courage to 
watch one who could bring down the 
mighty trees with such force. 



126 A Wilderness Dog 

The wood-chopper not only cut wood 
during the four or five weeks spent in the 
forest, but he also trapped along several 
small streams, that threaded their way 
through the low ranges of hills with which 
the country was broken. 

These traps were set for otter, mink, 
muskrat, fishers, or almost any of the fur- 
bearing animals that were stupid enough to 
get into them. Alec had brought a few 
small steel-traps with him for this purpose ; 
he also made several dead-falls by driving 
stakes about in a circle and leaving one 
side open and suspending a log above this 
open spot. The log was held up by a figure 
four, the bait being attached to the trigger. 
This is the most common home-made trap 
used in the northern woods by the half- 
breed trappers. 

As soon as Alec had his traps all set, the 
old wolf with the whelps visited each, 
either springing it or in some other way 






Good Hunting 127 



rendering it unserviceable. They never ate 
any of the bait, but preferred to kill their 
own game ; the old hunter's idea being that 
poison did not get into meat that they 
killed themselves. 

For nearly a week they lingered about the 
wood-cutter, spoiling his traps and becom- 
ing acquainted with his manner of life, but 
there was always a difference of mind be- 
tween the old wolf and his whelps. To 
him, the man was deadly, wholly without 
mercy or consideration other than hate. 
To the whelps, he was partly a friend, 
partly an object of curiosity. 

The old wolf noted these things and they 
filled him with forebodings. He had never 
known wolf whelps to act like this before. 
Finally, they tired of watching the wood- 
cutter, and went back to their old range. 

It was a wonderful morning for the 
whelps when they came forth from the den 
and found the ground white with snow. 



n8 A Wilderness Dog 

At first they went about, holding up 
their paws and looking inquiringly at the 
old wolf; but seeing that he paid no atten- 
tion to the strange new whiteness, which 
now covered all the earth, they ceased 
to notice it, and soon got used to the 
cold. 

There was another curious thing about 
this new substance. Wherever they went, 
they left tracks. The whelps had seen 
these before in the mud ; but now the 
marks were all around. They not only left 
tracks themselves, but the rabbit and the 
partridge did so too, and it was easier to 
follow them now than it had been before. 
When the ground was bare, they had to 
follow slowly, and if the trail was old they 
could not do it at all. Now they could fol- 
low rapidly, and at sight if they wanted, 
although it was not always safe to trust too 
much to one's eyes. It was better to de- 
pend upon both sight and scent. 




They Started a Fine Buck Out of a Clump of Spruces 



Good Hunting 1 29 



They had the greatest kind of fun rabbit- 
hunting. They would pick up a fresh 
track and, spreading out a little, that they 
might recover it easily when the rabbit 
doubled, would follow him pell-mell to the 
end of the trail. If the rabbit did not hole, 
they would usually catch him in half an 
hour, for the poor little thing could not run 
with these tall galloping dogs. 

But even this rabbit-hunting was tame 
compared with the deer-hunts in which 
they participated on several occasions. 

One morning near the middle of No- 
vember, when there were about six inches 
of snow upon the ground, they started a fine 
buck out of a clump of spruces where he had 
been spending the night. The wind was in 
their favor or they never would have got 
close to him before he took alarm. Away 
he went, clearing the low bushes with great 
bounds, and rising into the air at any ob- 
struction as lightly as though the laws of 



130 A Wilderness Dog 

gravity were nothing to him and running 
was his greatest delight. 

He was so fleet and so soon out of sight 
that it would seem almost like folly to pur- 
sue him, but the grizzled old hunter knew 
better and he led the pack after him at a 
steady long lope. 

It was a fine day for a run. The autumn 
sky was absolutely without a cloud, and 
the air was as clear as crystal. In the east 
the sunbeams were falling across the spruce- 
tops and painting the sky above the forest 
horizon-line with pink and saffron. The 
new snow was a spotless white, which only 
served to make the dark blue-green of the 
larches and spruces more dark and lustrous. 

At first Hairface, who was much the 
swiftest of the whelps, was inclined to race 
with all his might after the buck ; but the 
old hunter called him in with a savage 
snarl. He knew well that this race was not 
to the swift, but to him of endurance, and 



Good Hunting 131 

that to wind one's self in the first half-hour 
would be utter folly ; so he made the 
whelps keep the long even lope that he 
set. 

The country was very rough, and as the 
race grew hotter and hotter, the buck took 
pains that the trail should be a hard one to 
follow. He plunged into deep swamps, 
where there was a perfect tangle of laurel 
and small evergreens. He took frightful 
jumps from high bluffs, while the wolf pack 
were obliged to go around. He leaped 
broad streams and always gained time by 
this as the wolf rather hates a wetting. For 
several rods he ran upon a series of ledges 
where the snow had been blown off, and 
here the pack had to circle entirely around 
the ledge to find where he left it. But all 
this was good practice for the whelps. They 
saw how the old wolf quartered to pick up 
the trail and soon Hairface was imitating 
his sire, though of course without his fine 



132 A Wilderness Dog 

judgment. The old wolf had an instinct 
that usually told him where they would 
find the trail, once they lost it. 

At first, the trail had led in and out about 
the region where the buck had been started, 
not going over two or three miles away ; 
but, after about an hour, the buck became 
thoroughly frightened and led them straight 
across country, not stopping now for any 
antics. He at last appreciated his desperate 
plight. 

A fine figure was he, as he raced through 
deep gulches and over high bluffs, spurn- 
ing Mother Earth as though his small legs 
had been so many steel springs. His head 
was up, his eyes were wide with fear, his 
flanks were covered with sweat, and foam 
dripped from his muzzle. His cord-like 
muscles worked under his loose hide as 
freely as though the whole fine mechanism 
had been thoroughly oiled for the race that 
very morning. Last, but not least, his 



Good Hunting 133 

white flag was up, and it jerked nervously 
as he made his great leaps. 

No matter how fast he ran, or with what 
gigantic jumps he cleared the thickets, that 
steadily-running gray pack was always just 
about so far behind. They did not spurt 
and try to catch him in a race for the swift, 
for that was not their game. It was a race 
of endurance. Generations of wolf sires 
had handed down the knowledge that a 
wolf cannot often catch a deer in a mad 
flight across country, but he can wear him 
out with his persistent gallop. True, their 
tongues were out, and they panted freely, 
but this did them no harm ; it was the 
natural way to breathe during a long run. 

The worst mistake that the buck made 
was to drink too freely from the streams 
whenever opportunity offered. This filled 
him up and helped to make him loggy, for 
in such a race as this every pound tells. 

At last the gray hunters drew in sight of 



134 -A Wilderness Dog 

their quarry, and then the whelps wanted to 
race after him with might and main, but the 
old hunter forbade it. No one could tell 
how many more good miles the buck was 
capable of. To frighten him badly might 
defeat their purpose. 

Instead of racing, they trotted after him 
like collie dogs ; but they always took pains 
to keep him going at a good pace. There 
must be no stopping in this contest; no 
minutes in which to catch breath. It was 
the steady, unremitting strain that would 
tell ; so they gave him no quarter and the 
race sped on. 

The sun reached high noon and there was 
no slacking ; it dipped toward the western 
hills, and blue shadows stole across the 
snow, but still pursued and pursuers kept at 
their life-and-death game. 

By four o'clock, the wolves had come up 
to within three or four rods of the buck, 
who was badly spent. His breath whistled 



Good Hunting 135 

through his nose in gasps, and he was 
reeking with sweat. His eyes were wide 
with terror and he looked continually back 
at his pursuers. Once he stopped as though 
to give battle, but a snarl from the old wolf 
sent him about face and lent new speed to 
his flagging limbs. 

Presently they came out on a meadow 
where there was a small lake, of two or 
three acres in extent, fringed with bushes. 
It was toward this trap that the old hunter 
had been heading the buck for the past 
hour. Twice he had turned him this way. 

Still gasping for breath, straining every 
nerve to escape and without waiting to con- 
sider the probable consequences, the poor 
fugitive plunged into the icy water and 
struck out for the opposite bank. Here was 
his great mistake, for, had he kept to the 
woods, he might possibly have lost his pur- 
suers under the friendly mantle of the im- 
pending night. It is much harder to swim 



136 A Wilderness Dog 

than to run, especially when already winded, 
and he had barely strength enough left to 
draw himself up on the other side. 

As soon as he sprang into the lake, the 
plan of the old hunter was apparent. He 
left two of the whelps to guard the shore 
where the buck had taken to the water, and 
he and Hairface quickly slipped about the 
end of the lake to the farther side. When 
the buck, dripping and exhausted, spent 
from his long swim, scrambled out on the 
bank, blowing and trembling, they sprang 
upon him. 

The old warrior got the throat grip at the 
first snap and Hairface caught him by the 
gambrel joint. Together they brought him 
to earth like a log. Although he struck 
out viciously with his sharp-cutting hoofs, 
and made the best fight that he could in his 
weakened condition, it was hopeless. A 
minute later the old wolf sent the cry of the 
kill echoing across the lake, and the Wolf 



Good Hunting 137 



and the Mongrel came galloping around to 
the feast. 

The slaying of this fine buck, however, 
was but child's play compared with the 
pulling down of a great bull moose, which 
the pack accomplished later on in the winter. 
But this was in the deep of the snow, when 
other game had become scarce, else the old 
wolf would not have counseled so hazardous 
an undertaking, fortified as he was with 
merely three half-grown whelps. 

As the days shortened in December and 
the month drew near to its close, the snows 
became heavier and heavier, until the laurel 
in the rabbit-swamps was entirely covered, 
and the little scrub spruces and hemlocks 
were merely white mounds. So changed 
was all the landscape that one could hardly 
have recognized familiar scenes. 

In some places the wind played fantastic 
tricks with the new snows. Here, it would 
pile them up mountain high ; there, upon 



138 A Wilderness Dog 

a hilltop, it would sweep the earth almost 
bare, so that the brown fronds and the tops 
of the weeds would show. All of the lower 
branches of the evergreens were weighed 
down with snow and in many places one 
could walk up into a tree several feet from 
the ground. Such were the pranks of the 
wind. 

In a season like this the rabbits, squirrels, 
spruce partridges, and all other creatures 
who were meat for the wolf pack, stayed in- 
doors as much as possible. What was the 
sense of going abroad when all the sources 
of food were buried so deeply under the 
snow ? Perhaps one might be hungry, but 
one would get still more so by floundering 
about in a hopeless quest for food ; food 
which was not to be had just then at any 
price. 

So it happened that, although the pack 
scoured the rabbit-swamps persistentty, and 
nosed about the roots of trees where a prov- 



Good Hunting 139 



ident squirrel might be routed out, or even 
dug under the snow for mice, frequently 
they went supperless to bed. 

Perhaps you may wonder where their beds 
were when the snow was several feet deep. 
In this heavily timbered northland, there 
are places where the spruces stand so thick 
and their boughs so intertwine that one 
can hardly make his way through them 
even in summer-time. Here in New Eng- 
land, I have often seen such sheltered nooks 
where, under a clump of thickly interlaced 
spruces, not a flake of snow would fall all 
winter long, and the dead needles would be 
almost as dry in the spring as they were in 
the hottest days of August. In fact, the 
snow does not penetrate to these spots nearly 
as freely as do the drenching rains of sum- 
mer. Reynard, the red fox, in winter often 
prefers these sheltered beds under the 
spruces to his den, and in such places the 
wolf family made their winter home. 



140 A Wilderness Dog 

It came about that, when the snows were 
piled five or six feet deep on the level, and 
in many places ten or twelve feet where it 
had drifted, when the winds bit like a 
serpent, and the steely bright stars in 
heaven were cold and pitiless, starvation, 
that other wolf, grim and terrible, stared 
the pack in the face. This gray, slinking 
figure was as persistent in his hunting of 
the pack, as they had been in hunting the 
denizens of the forest. It followed them by 
day and night. Even in their sleep it came 
and stood over them. 

So much did this creature of their fancies, 
who was a terrifying reality, prey upon 
them,, that they became gaunt, evil-eyed 
and quarrelsome even among themselves, 
where good feeling usually reigned. 

It was not until their plight grew des- 
perate that the old hunter gave the word 
that they should undertake the dangerous 
feat of killing a moose. 



Good Hunting 141 

A few days before, the sire had left the 
whelps behind and gone twenty miles to 
the northward to reconnoitre in some moose 
country of which he knew. There was no 
need of wearing out the strength of the 
entire pack in this scouting, so he went 
alone, and the whelps spent the time while 
he was away in futile hunting or lying 
quietly under the spruces. 

The old wolf found two moose-yards, one 
of which contained two bulls, three cows, 
some yearlings and a couple of calves. He 
spent nearly half a day in trying to cut out 
one of the calves from the herd, but this 
herd was wonderfully well protected by 
the bulls who kept them bunched and 
were proof against all the wiles of the 
wolf. 

The other yard was nearer home, and 
contained a solitary bull, a well-grown four- 
year-old, who had concluded to yard b} r him- 
self that year. It was useless to think of 



14 2 A Wilderness Dog 

overcoming him alone, so the wolf went 
back for his rather feeble pack. 

Moose of the size and strength of this bull 
frequently stand off a pack of six or eight 
full-grown wolves, and here the old hunter 
was advancing to the attack with but three 
half-grown whelps. Clearly it was a case 
where brains must win, if they won at all. 
This was just where the experienced leader 
was strong. He could fight with his wolf 
cunning as well as with his terrible fangs. 
Like the hunting of the buck, this would 
not be a race to the swift ; it would be a 
case of endurance ; of steady, persistent 
harassing ; of threat and of menace which 
would not cease until the bull had paid the 
price of being meat for the pack. 

Such was the old wolfs plan as he ad- 
vanced through the deep snows, with his 
three eager whelps, to the yard of the soli- 
tary moose. 

Although rather young, the bull, upon 



Good Hunting 143 

whose destruction the wolf pack were in- 
tent, was a mighty beast, with a well-grown 
set of horns, and a deep and powerful chest. 
His coat was coarse and long, of a smoky 
gray appearance. His mane and the hair 
upon his bell were jet black, while the in- 
sides of his legs and his belly were tawny, 
almost yellow. So strong was he that he 
swung through the deep snow like a mighty 
snow-plow, and he bent down small saplings, 
on which to feed, with the strength of a 
Goliath. 

His yard was well trodden, for it was not 
large, so there was no chance of getting him 
into the deep snow ; crusting him, as a 
woodsman would say. The wolf pack, 
therefore, under the lead of the old hunter, 
began a persistent hounding and harassing 
of the moose. Sometimes they would merely 
sit about him upon their tails looking at 
him, a grim expectant circle. Even when 
they made no sound, this worried the bull, 



144 A Wilderness Dog 

and he would constantly turn his head try- 
ing vainly to watch them all at once. If 
this annoyance seemed not to be enough, 
the whelps would bark intermittently at 
him, which always drove him into a rage. 
The old wolf himself never barked ; but 
the whelps, being half dog, barked often 
when excited. Then the bull would charge 
furiously, first at one and then at another. 
But as often as he charged in this reckless 
manner, he would discover that terrible 
teeth were clicking at his heels like a great 
steel-trap, and he at once understood the 
danger of being ham-strung. He tried never 
to allow the old wolf to get in his rear, for 
he might render him helpless at a single bite 
if he found just the right spot. So the bull 
soon resorted to the stratagem of backing 
up to some thick cover that should protect 
his rear, and keep all his enemies in his 
front, where he could guard himself with 
lowered horns and sharp-cutting hoofs. 



Good Hunting ] 45 

They were not much worse than flies ; a 
constant annoyance, but in their present 
temper not to be feared. They would soon 
tire of this useless teasing. Instead, how- 
ever, they kept it up all through the day, 
and, when the blue shadows of night came 
creeping across the snow, showed no signs 
of quitting. 

The moon, luminous and large, climbed 
over the eastern hills, and the myriad glit- 
tering spear-points of the stars pricked 
through the cold gray heavens. Still the 
four gray shapes stuck to him like burrs. 
All through the night, the hoarse, inter- 
mittent barking of these wolf-dogs punc- 
tuated the mournful shrieking of the wind 
in the tree-tops. The complaining of the 
winds, the hooting of a great horned owl, 
the sharp cracking of a tree as the frost 
broke its heart, and the hoarse barking of 
these death-watchers made a solemn and 
terrible night chorus. 



146 A Wilderness Dog 

When the delicate pink and bright red 
of the morning streamed up the eastern 
horizon, and the pale rays of the sun fell 
across the spruce-tops, they were still play- 
ing their game of endurance. 

That forenoon the old hunter left the 
whelps to keep up the worrying process 
while he went to hunt food for the pack, 
for they were nearly famished, and the 
tactics which they were following were 
telling on them as well as on the bull. 
About noon he brought back a rabbit, and, 
although it was merely a taste for the four 
hungry dogs, it put new life into them, and 
the worrying of the bull was renewed with 
zest. 

They now drew in much nearer than 
they had dared to the first day. His fear 
of them was not getting less ; in fact, it 
hourly grew. Perhaps he foresaw with 
prophetic vision the coming death struggle. 
The method of the pack was not to flee 



Good Hunting 147 



pell-mell when he charged, but merely to 
slip from his reach, just as a collie dog does 
before cattle. He never runs away but 
simply slips a yard to the right or the left, 
avoiding the horns by so small a margin 
that you shudder for your pet. This tan- 
talizes the charging cow, and does not waste 
the strength of the dog. 

When, for the second time, the blue 
shadows lengthened along the snow, the 
death-watch had drawn in to within fifteen 
or twenty feet of the bull, who stood with 
lowered head and bloodshot eyes, watching 
the wolves narrowly. He was wrought up 
to the highest pitch. His eyes flamed, his 
breath whistled through his nostrils, and 
his bell and mane were covered with frost. 

That night there was not so much bark- 
ing, but the ghastly circle drew in still 
closer ; so close, in fact, that the old wolf 
occasionally sprang in and made a vicious 
snap at the bull's hind quarters in hopes 



148 A Wilderness Dog 

of ham-stringing him. This kept the moose 
constantly on guard. If he dared to doze 
for even a second these terrible jaws were 
clicking at his great sinews. One slash 
rightly directed there would render him 
helpless. Well he knew this, and, although 
his head was so heavy that it seemed to 
weigh a ton, he braced himself and glared 
straight at his relentless enemies as he 
would at a rival bull that he expected 
to charge the next minute. 

If they only would charge, he would feel 
better. His mighty antlers and his sharp 
hoofs would soon scatter them. He w T ould 
break their backs, and either toss them high 
in air, or crush them to jelly in the new 
snow. But the) 7 would not fight fair. 
They were killing him by inches, like the 
water which wears away the stone, a grain 
at a time. 

There was no hunting for the pack the 
third day, but a constant narrowing of the 



Good Hunting 149 



circle, and a constant menace of snapping 
jaws and advancing fangs. 

That night, when the pitiless stars looked 
down, when the demoniacal winds shrieked 
in the tree-tops and the shimmering light 
was cold as death, when far down in 
the frozen earth the pulses of life slept, 
at an appropriate death-hour, the old wolf 
and his three eager whelps grappled with 
the mighty bull in the final battle. He 
seemed so exhausted and they were so fam- 
ished, the gray wolf of hunger pressed 
them so hard, that they chose the lesser of 
two evils and welcomed the desperate strug- 
gle, which could be no longer delayed. 

Like a wave of fury they broke upon him, 
springing and snapping, advancing and 
retreating before those death-dealing ant- 
lers and crushing hoofs. For ten minutes 
there was obstinate fighting, and the air 
was filled with the sounds of the combat. 
There were snarls and hoarse barks from 



150 A Wilderness Dog 

the pack and the whistling breath of the 
forest monarch, together with deep grunts, 
and the mighty thud of his hoofs as he 
dealt sledge-hammer blows at his illusive 
adversaries. 

At last Hairface, who was more coura- 
geous than prudent, caught the great 
blowing fury by his long fleshy upper 
lip ; his dog tendency caused him to hold 
on, and this was almost his undoing. A 
wolf leaps and snaps, leaving a frightful 
gash and then leaps again. These should 
have been Hairface's tactics, but instead he 
held on. 

The raging bull reared in air, carrying 
his plucky adversary with him, but when 
his sharp-cutting hoofs descended, one of 
Hairface's hind legs hung limp and useless 
and one of his ribs was broken. Another 
blow such as this would finish him. Seeing 
the imminent danger of his favorite whelp, 
the old wolf sprang in recklessly, and the 



Good Hunting 151 

Mongrel and the Wolf followed his ex- 
ample. 

They tore at the monarch's legs and 
gashed him in a score of places. He 
caught the Wolf upon his antlers and 
tossed him high in air, to fall like a log. 
He struck with his hoofs like a battering- 
ram. There were no more feints now. It 
was a question of whether they could pull 
him down before he killed the better part 
of the pack. 

In a lucky moment for them, the old 
wolf ham-strung the desperately-fighting 
moose, and his hind quarters sank to earth, 
helpless. Still standing for a moment upon 
his fore-legs, he ripped from right to left 
with his antlers and then toppled over. 
They were upon him like a submerging 
wave. 

In three minutes more it was all over. 
The great moose had forfeited his life and was 
meat for the pack ; but they had not gained 



152 A Wilderness Dog 

their object without cost. Hairface could 
barely drag himself about, while the Wolf 
had bought his share of the meat with the 
price of his life, for he was already stiff 
upon the snow. 

What a gorge it was that the moon and 
the stars looked down upon when the fam- 
ished pack ate their fill I 



CHAPTER VI 
IN THE TOILS OF MAN 



CHAPTER VI 

IN THE TOILS OF MAN 

Winter, with its deep snow and biting 
frost, its loneliness and deprivation, came 
and went, and all the countless trees on the 
hillsides and in the deep valleys again 
shook out their green banners with the 
approach of spring. Again the arbutus 
shed its illusive fragrance in the pasture- 
lands, the dog-tooth violet gemmed the 
brook-side, and all the myriad nameless 
voices of nature were heard in the land. 
With a glad rush, life came flowing back 
into every stem and stalk, and again the 
green earth was glad. Little by little, so 
gradually that you could not have told 
where one left off and the other began, 
spring merged into summer, and the old 
world rioted in color and fragrance. Just 



1 56 A Wilderness Dog 

as gradually as it came, the summer waned, 
and the scarlet and golden streamers of 
autumn danced in the merry breezes, the 
first bright camp-fires of the dying year. 

Hairface was now a year and a half old, 
and, with the exception of the long coarse 
hairs upon his face, was a perfect wolf. 
His high forehead and massive jaws, his 
well-developed shoulders and bushy tail, all 
proclaimed him a wolf. His nature and 
habits of life were also those of the wolf. 
He slunk through the cover like a gray 
shadow ; he crept upon his prey as noise- 
lessly as the death he personified ; and he 
struck like lightning. 

Even his sire, the old grizzled veteran, 
was not a more skilful hunter than he, for 
he combined with the wolf's quickness of 
motion and keenness of scent the intelli- 
gence of the dog. He used his head in his 
hunting even more often than did his sire. 
This was where the deerhound blood told ; 



In the Toils of Man 1 57 

otherwise the dog traits were entirely lack- 
ing. Of affection, he did not even know 
the meaning. The old wolf he feared, and 
the Mongrel he despised ; but he would not 
much longer fear his sire, for even now he 
rebelled when chastised, and they had barely 
missed coming to a desperate struggle on 
more than one occasion. It was only be- 
cause the old wolf rather liked Hairface 
that he forebore giving him the thrashing 
that he sometimes merited. 

In the second autumn of their whelphood, 
the old wolf shifted their base of operations 
from the wilderness regions and came in 
closer to the settlements. Somewhere in 
the dim vistas of his memory there were 
tantalizing pictures of good hunting near 
the home of man. Particularly were these 
scenes connected with some woolly white 
animals that were to be found in large flocks, 
and belonged to their worst enemy, man. 
These were stupid creatures, much easier 



158 A Wilderness Dog 

than a deer to run down and kill, and their 
taste was delicious even to memory. 

Just about this time the good people, 
Scotch and French, in the little parish of 
St. Boniface, began to hear alarming stories 
of three great wolves that were ranging 
the country, killing sheep, and on one oc- 
casion even pulling down a yearling heifer. 

Rumor, which always runs riot in such 
out-of-the-way places, had it that they were 
much taller and larger than ordinarily. 
As wolves had been very scarce in the 
region for several years, at first the inhabit- 
ants of St. Boniface were inclined to think 
that some large dogs had turned sheep- 
killers and had been mistaken for their 
more ferocious cousins. 

Finally Roderick McElwain, our friend 
of the tote-team, saw the small pack. It 
followed him one moonlight evening for 
several miles, as he was on his way home 
from a husking party in a distant parish. 



In the Toils of Man 1 59 

Roderick knew wolves as did no one else in 
the village ; he had encountered them 
while driving the tote-team from McGreg- 
or's Point to the lumbering-camps on the 
upper Ottawa. So when he pronounced 
the pack to be composed of three mighty 
wolves, there was no longer any doubt about 
it. 

This statement, from so trustworthy a 
source, made a great stir in the parish. It 
would never do to allow such a pack to 
range the country ; it would not be safe for 
either man or beast. Accordingly, a great 
hunt was planned, which should destroy 
these freebooters, who took such heavy toll 
of the farmers. 

About a score of men and boys assembled 
on the appointed day. They were armed 
with every conceivable kind of weapon, and 
the pack of dogs that accompanied them 
was composed of about every breed ever 
seen in Canada. Two full-blooded fox- 



160 A Wilderness Dog 

hounds were depended on to do the trailing, 
and the rest of the pack was to furnish the 
moral support, with two Great Danes to do 
the actual fighting, when they should come 
up with the wolves. 

Within two or three hours, the better part 
of the pack had given up in disgust; but 
the hounds still trailed the wolves, with 
the Danes in the distance. Toward night 
one of the big dogs came limping back to 
the village, horribly bitten ; but his mate 
and the two hounds were missing. A few 
days later they were found in the woods by 
some wood-choppers, each with his throat 
torn open. 

This put an end to the wolf-hunting, so 
the pack went unpunished as far as the set- 
tlement was concerned, although several old 
hunters kept guns loaded for them, and 
Roderick himself took up the matter of rid- 
ding the country of this new menace. 

His first experiment was to purchase 



In the Toils of Man 161 

about a score of powerful traps, which he 
set wherever he heard of depredations by 
the wolves ; but, as this pack never ate 
anything that they did not kill themselves, 
the baits had no attraction for them. Be- 
sides, the old wolf had had some experience 
with steel-traps when he was younger, and 
could scent one almost as far as he could 
mutton ; so nothing came of the traps but 
vexation. 

Roderick next tried poison. Whenever 
he heard of a killing by the wolves, where 
they had left a partly-eaten carcass, he at 
once visited the spot and made several slits 
in the meat, inserting strychnine ; he also 
cut off small pieces and treated them in the 
same way. All of this work was done in 
the most scientific manner. None of the 
meat was touched with the bare hand, and 
care was taken to leave as little scent as 
possible. It was all for naught, how- 
ever, as far as the wolves were con- 



162 A Wilderness Dog 

cerned. The old hunter's nose was never 
at fault. 

Two or three of the young men of the 
settlement, under Roderick's lead, then 
tried to shoot the wolves by waiting for 
them on moonlight nights at a bait that 
they left as an allurement. It was the 
body of a dead horse, and near it the boys 
built a scaffold six or eight feet from the 
ground, from which point they watched 
their decoy. By this time the wolves were 
credited with unheard-of ferocity and cun- 
ning, and the boys did not dare wait for 
them upon the ground, lest they might be 
overpowered. But, like the steel-traps and 
the poison, this stratagem also failed. 

When wolf-hunts, traps, poison, and guns 
had all proved useless, Roderick tried a 
new kind of trap which he had read of 
as being used successfully in the West. 
This was a pitfall about eight feet in depth, 
with perpendicular walls. It was made so 



In the Toils of Man 1 63 

deep and the walls were so steep, that a 
wolf, if once he stumbled into it, never 
could get out. 

Across the middle of the mouth of this 
pitfall was placed a stick, which acted as 
an axis for a platform over the mouth of 
the hole. When everything was ready, the 
platform was covered with leaves and grass 
and made to look natural. Such a pitfall 
was usually baited by putting some kind 
of meat upon the platform, but Roderick 
placed his baits at a distance. His idea was 
that the wolves might be circling about 
the baits inspecting them, as he had dis- 
covered was their wont, and accidentally 
stumble into his trap. 

Each morning he visited it, reconnoiter- 
ing from a distance, as he did not care to 
leave any fresh scent in the vicinity. 

For the first two mornings, nothing 
seemed to be disturbed ; but on the third 
morning he saw that the platform was 






164 A Wilderness Dog 

slightly tilted as though something had 
whirled it over. 

He approached carefully, reinforced by 
two comrades, and peeped over the edge of 
the pitfall. At the bottom of the hole was a 
gigantic gray wolf. The animal was cower- 
ing upon the ground, for, although a terri- 
ble fighter, the wolf cowers easily when 
taken off his guard ; this one seemed to be 
trying to slink into the very earth. 

" We've got him," Roderick whispered 
eagerly to his companions. 

The other boys were as much excited as 
he at this astounding news, and all drew 
close to the mouth of the pit to look down 
at the captive. Sure enough ; there he was 
at the bottom, lying flat upon his belly, his 
yellow eyes gleaming fiercely up at them 
through the semi-darkness. 

" What shall we do with him ? " asked 
one of Roderick's companions. 

" I know what I am going to do with 



In the Toils of Man 165; 

him," replied the young Scotchman. He 
cocked his rifle and again peered down into 
the pit. 

What a great beast he was, and what a 
menace there was in those two eyes that 
burned like coals with the hatred of the 
wild animal for man ! Roderick shoved 
the muzzle of the rifle over the edge of the 
pit and lowered his cheek to the stock of 
the gun to take aim. 

With a snarl that fairly made the youth's 
blood run cold, the cowering wolf leaped to 
his hind-legs, putting his fore-paws upon 
the sides of the pitfall and reaching his 
mighty jaws with their gleaming fangs 
almost up into Roderick's face. 

With a cry of astonishment and fear, the 
young man sprang back, almost dropping 
the rifle in his haste ; but he still gazed with 
riveted eyes into those of the great gray 
wolf. 

It was the typical wolf head, with high, 



166 A Wilderness Dog 

intelligent forehead, and long powerful jaws 
that could do such fearful execution ; but 
the face was sprinkled with long, coarse, 
bristling hair, such as is often seen on some 
varieties of hounds. 

" Boys," exclaimed Roderick, after a mo- 
ment of intense silence, " that may be a 
wolf, but his face is that of Vixen, my old 
Irish deerhound. The expression is the 
same, and the long coarse hair is the same. 
No one e\er saw such hair as that upon the 
face of a full-blooded wolf. I'd bet almost 
anything that this is one of her pups. 

" I don't believe I ever told you, but she 
ran away and mated with a wolf, and I 
afterward accidentally shot her. I felt 
mighty cut up over it and so kept quiet ; 
but they all know about it at the lumber- 
camps." 

The longer Roderick gazed at the glaring 
visage of Hairface, the more certain he 
became that this fury now confronting 



In the Toils of Man 167 

him was one of the old deerhound's whelps, 
until at last it became an absolute con- 
viction. 

" Half of that wolf belongs to me by 
rights," he said finally, "and the other 
half I am going to appropriate. Boys, let's 
take him home alive." 

But his companions laughed the proposal 
to scorn. 

" Might as well think of taking home a 
streak of greased lightning," said Hugh 
Boyle. " He's all fight, from the tip of his 
nose to the end of his tail." 

" I guess it will be a sorry day for us if 
we undertake to get him alive," remarked 
the second. " You had better shoot him 
before he chaws some of us up." 

But Roderick was stubborn, as only a 
Scotchman can be, so of course the others 
had to give in. 

Hugh went to the nearest farmhouse, 
which was nearly two miles away, for rope, 



168 A Wilderness Dog 

and the other boys sat down by the pit to 
watch their captive. Seeing that there was 
to be no immediate hostility upon their 
part, Hairface at last lay down upon the 
bottom of the pit to await his fate. 

When Hugh returned with about one 
hundred feet of half-inch rope, each of 
them secured a good club, four or fiye feet 
long, that they might stun the prisoner if 
it became necessary. 

The rope was cut into two pieces and a 
slip-noose made at the end of each piece, 
Roderick's idea being to throw two nooses 
over the wolfs head at the same time and 
then to choke him into submission. A 
wolf, when once cowed, shows very little 
fight, although, up to the point where he is 
fairly beaten, he is most desperate. 

When all was ready, Hugh took one 
improvised lasso and Roderick the other, 
and they lowered them into the pit in an 
attempt to snare their victim. He dodged 



In the Toils of Man 1 69 

and twisted from side to side, his great jaws 
clicking like a steel-trap, and more than 
once they were obliged to draw up the rope 
and make a new noose, the old one being 
so badly cut that it was no longer service- 
able. But patience will accomplish almost 
anything, and Roderick persisted, although 
his companions again and again entreated 
him to shoot the wolf before he got loose, 
and did some of them harm. 

At last he slipped his noose over the head 
of the frantic Hairface, who fairly went 
wild as the rope tightened upon his throat. 
He cowered in the bottom of the pit and 
sought to cut the cord ; but Roderick pulled 
upon it with all his might, bringing the wolf 
upon his hind legs, and in this position the 
other noose was easily slipped over his head. 

Then, with a boy at the end of each rope, 
they slowly lifted the strangling wolf out of 
the pit, while the third boy stood by with 
his club in readiness to strike if necessary. 



170 A Wilderness Dog 

Restraint of any kind was new to Hair- 
face, and he struggled like the mad beast 
that he was. His tongue protruded from 
his throat its full length, his eyes started 
from their sockets, foam dripped from his 
powerful jaws, and hoarse snarls escaped 
from his throat. 

He was fairly bursting with fury, yet ter- 
ribly impotent. Never before had anything 
availed against his strength and cunning. 
Usually he had been able to use his long 
fangs, but now this man creature gripped 
him by the throat and he was powerless. 
The more he struggled, the more helpless 
he became. His breath whistled through 
his nose in sobs and his eyes grew dim. 
The world reeled, and he fell to earth pant- 
ing and entirely exhausted. For the mo- 
ment, the man creature had conquered 
him. 

Then, while Roderick's two companions 
held the ropes taut, pulling in opposite 



In the Toils of Man 171 

directions, Roderick slipped a stick about a 
foot long between the wolfs jaws, pressing 
it back into his mouth as far as possible. 
He then took a stout cord and passed it in 
front of the stick, upon one side of his 
mouth, over his jaw, and behind the stick 
on the other, thus making a tight lacing 
like a letter X. When he had finished and 
drawn the cord tight and tied it, the wolfs 
jaws were held as in a vise, and he was as 
harmless as though he had no fangs with 
which to strike. 

Then they slacked the two ropes a bit and 
gradually breath and strength came back to 
poor Hairface. He soon struggled to his 
feet and sat up, glaring about him impo- 
tently. He reached up his paws and tried 
to poke the stick from his mouth, but it 
would not budge. He growled and roared 
and threatened, but all to no purpose. As 
soon as he became too violent, the two 
nooses that still gripped his throat choked 



172 A Wilderness Dog 

him into submission ; do what he would, he 
was powerless. 

Soon the two man creatures, whose throats 
he would like to tear open, began drawing 
him through the woods, each holding him 
at a distance with the taut rope, and he 
was obliged to follow where they led. The 
ropes were resistless. If he became too vio- 
lent, they cut off his breath, and left him 
gasping and panting upon the ground. His 
dog intelligence soon taught him that sub- 
mission was the better course, and he went 
along reluctantly, abiding his opportunity 
for revenge. 

For hours this strange company plodded 
through the woods. It was slow work, as 
the ropes continually got tangled in the un- 
derbrush ; but finally the boys saw that 
their prisoner was really harmless with the 
stick in his jaws, so they relaxed the ropes, 
and one went ahead and the other behind. 

Just about sundown they reached the vil- 



In the Toils of Mm 173 

lage and it was a curious and astonished 
crowd that soon congregated to see their 
captive. The more timid of the citizens 
urged that the wolf be dispatched at once, 
but Roderick would not hear of it. 

" I tell you he is half dog/' he reiterated 
again and again. 

Old trappers and hunters viewed him 
warily and then shook their heads. " He 
may be part dog," was their verdict, " but 
he looks like a full-blooded wolf, with the 
exception of the long hairs upon his face, 
and this may be merely a freak." 

It was the concensus of opinion that for 
Roderick to try to keep him and tame him 
was a hazardous undertaking, but Roderick 
was Scotch, and no Scotchman ever changes 
his mind from external pressure. So he 
took the wolf-dog, as he persisted in calling 
him, to his own home, to the great alarm of 
his mother, and put him in a box-stall in 
the barn, still keeping in his mouth the 



*74 



A Wilderness Dog 



stick which locked his jaws, and also fast- 
ening him with two collars and a chain. 
One of the collars was about his neck 
and the other about his body behind his 
fore-legs, and they were joined together. 

In the darkest and most remote corner 
of the stall, Hairface cowered, glaring and 
snarling at all who came near him. His 
yellow, hungry, hate-filled eyes were the 
eyes of a wolf. No gleam of affection ever 
softened them. He was uncompromising 
in his hatred for man, who had undone 
him. 

Although Roderick spent hours talking 
to him and offering him food and water, 
he seemed to make no headway in subdu- 
ing his wolf nature. The water he would 
drink, when no one was by to see, but 
food he did not touch. Perhaps he remem- 
bered the old wolfs training, which pre- 
scribed that the pack should eat nothing 
that they did not kill themselves ; or it 



In the Toils of Man 175 

may be he thought the meat put before him 
might be poisoned ; or possibly it was the 
man taint about it that offended him. Cer- 
tain it is that for nearly a week he refused 
all food. 

When at last even Roderick despaired of 
keeping his wolf-dog, and was seriously 
considering the advice of those who coun- 
seled shooting Hairface, the wolf began to 
eat. First it was a rabbit that Roderick 
had just shot for him. This meat was still 
warm with the warmth of nature, so could 
not be poison. Having been relieved of the 
stick that locked his jaws together, the 
half-famished wolf-dog, when left alone, 
tore the rabbit to bits and ate it ravenously. 

After that there was no trouble about his 
eating. Little by little, he began to take 
cooked food, such as any dog would eat ; but 
the man taint about all his food troubled 
him for some time, and he would sniff at 
it suspiciously before beginning his meal. 



176 



A Wilderness Dog 



This much Roderick had accomplished in 
a month's time. The wolf trusted him 
enough to eat what he set before him, but 
that was about all. Whenever his master 
came too near to him, he would crouch as 
though to spring, and bare his fangs and 
snarl. If his master extended his hand 
toward him, the hair upon his neck would 
stand on end, his lips would part, showing 
his fangs gleaming white, and he would 
growl savagely. 

" You can't do anything with him," said 
Hugh one day, when he had come in to see 
the wolf and to learn how Roderick was 
getting on with him. 

" Well, I have got him to eat," replied 
the wolfs jealous owner, " and perhaps I'll 
fetch him yet. Anyhow, he is worth trying. 
I have a good mind to put m}^ hand upon 
him. I don't really believe he would bite 



me. 



" Don't try it," cautioned his friend. 



In the Toils of Man 177 

But Roderick was deaf to his compan- 
ion's warning, and slowly advanced toward 
Hairface, holding out his hand, and talk- 
ing to him softly all the time. 

The wolf-dog crouched in his corner, glar- 
ing at his master, and growling continuously. 
Lower and lower to the floor he slunk, as 
Roderick's hand approached his head, and 
his growl took on a warning throaty 
quality. 

" Look out, Rod," cried Hugh, but he 
spoke too late. Quick as a flash the wolf 
struck. Roderick snatched his hand back 
with the greatest dexterity, but he was 
snail-like compared with the movements of 
the wolf-dog, who sank his fangs deep in 
the flesh. The boy quickly retreated to the 
barn floor, shaking his bleeding hand, and 
furious at his untamable prisoner. 

In a fit of temper he seized his rifle and 
raised it to his shoulder, but at the motion 
Hairface slunk into his corner and looked 



'•".:•■. '.V 



i 7 8 



A Wilderness Dog 



up with fear in his eyes. He clearly under- 
stood the deadly intent of the man creature. 
For a moment Roderick hesitated, and then 
relented. 

For Vixen's sake, he would give him an- 
other trial. After all, he owed something 
to Hairface for having robbed him of his 
mother. Perhaps he would conquer the 
wolf in time, if he were patient. 



CHAPTER VII 
BACK TO HIS FIRST LOVE 



CHAPTER VII 

BACK TO HIS FIRST LOVE 

Man was the first love of the great gray 
timber wolf, who himself was the wilder- 
ness dog. Until he at last came to know 
and love man, this finer passion of the heart 
had never touched him. He had loved his 
mate in the mating season in his harsh way, 
after his kind, but no other tender sentiment 
had ever stirred his heart until he rubbed 
against the leg of primeval man, who was 
almost as much of a wild beast as he. They 
had often met on the mountain-top and in 
the deep valley, at the fording of the stream 
and in the dark thicket, yet for long they 
were strangers. 

There was something about this erect, 
self-reliant man creature that fascinated the 



182 A Wilderness Dog 

wolf. This two-legged animal had such 
fearful powers over the other animals and 
over the forces of nature. He could bring 
fire from two sticks, which of themselves 
really possessed no warmth. He could 
draw fish from the stream with a small 
cord. With a stick he could bring birds 
down out of the sky, and the strong, fleet 
buck, that the pack would have to follow 
for a day to haul down, stopped at his bid- 
ding and lay dead on the ground. 

This man creature, too, lived in "a den 
that he fashioned for himself above the 
solid earth, while the wild beasts lived in 
holes and dens under the earth. He could 
make the night bright with his camp-fire, 
when there was no moon, and could warm 
his den with that mysterious dancing bright- 
ness which held such terrors for the wild 
beasts. He could catch the wild horse, 
which was fleeter than a wolf, and make 
it carry him far over the prairies. 



Back to His First Love 183 

Is it any wonder that such a creature 
finally drew the wolf to him and made of his 
foe a friend, as he has done with so many 
of the beasts of the field ? 

When the wolf took man for his master, 
he put off hate, and love entered his heart ; 
such love and fidelity as man has never re- 
ceived from any other of the wild creatures. 

Man was also the wolf-dog's god ; a crea- 
ture that he could worship, a being for 
whom if need be, it was sweet to die. 

But poor Hairface, crouching in his 
corner of the box-stall and glowering at the 
man who confronted him, was neither a 
dog nor a wolf, but a wolf-dog. He had 
been born upon the boundary line between 
the domestic and the wild creature. Had 
Roderick found him that spring when he 
searched for the den in the rocks, he never 
would have been a wolf at all, either in dis- 
position or in habits of life ; but the old 
wolf found him instead, and in two years 



m 



184 A Wilderness Dog 

under his guidance had taken him entirely 
back to the wild. Now he was a wolf from 
the tip of his massive jaws, which were so 
eager to sink their fangs into human flesh, 
to the end of his bushy tail, which was also 
the typical wolf banner. There was one 
thing, however, about him that was still 
dog. Nothing could change this fact. The 
blood of the old deerhound ran in his veins, 
and sooner or later would assert itself. 

It was because of this that Roderick 
waited and was patient, when all his friends 
clamored for the life of Hairface. 

He also remembered a scene in the thicket 
on that spring morning when the dying 
hound had licked her master's hand as she 
gasped out her last breath and forgave him, 
although he had taken her life. Surely he 
could forgive Hairface for sinking his fangs 
in his flesh, provided he overcame him at 
last. 

Indeed, the good seed was already sown 



Back to His First Love 185 

and taking root, although Roderick was slow 
to see it. Hairface trusted him, for he now 
ate the food which his master placed before 
him, and to trust in one way was a sign 
that he would soon trust in others. 

About a week after the first sad experi- 
ence when Roderick had attempted to lay 
his hand upon Hairface, he tried it again. 
This time the wolf-dog growled and bristled 
as before, but instead of striking when the 
hand approached within reach, he slunk 
farther and farther into the corner, turning 
his head lest he might again bite his mas- 
ter, or so Roderick interpreted it. 

So much, at least, had been gained. He 
no longer wished to bite his master. This 
was a great step, and with another week of 
patience Roderick was able to put his hand 
fairly upon the massive head, and stroke it, 
although the process was not pleasing to 
the wolf. One peculiarity, however, Hair- 
face always retained, even after he had 



186 A Wilderness Dog 

come to love his master as deeply as any 
dog could have done. He always reached 
out to meet the proffered hand with his 
jaws. He never allowed it to be put di- 
rectly upon the top of his head. First it 
must pass by those upturned jaws. 

This is a wolfish trait that many dogs 
possess; a remnant of the wolf's lack of 
confidence in man. He must first see for 
himself, and then, if all is well, will suffer 
the hand to approach him. 

Once they had got this far, the friendship 
between Roderick and his wolf-dog grew 
rapidly. 

Finally, to the consternation of the good 
people of the village, the boy took the 
double collar from Hairface and led him 
about upon an ordinary leash, just like any 
other large dog. 

" Mebbe you can tame a wolf, mon, and 
mebbe you can't," said Robert Killdare, 
an old Scotch log-driver of the place. " A 



Back to His First Love 187 

wolf he war born, an' a wolf he will always 
be, I am after thinking. If ye wake up, 
Rod, some fine morning and find yourself 
eaten up, don't say I dinna tell you, that's 
all, mon." 

But the dog nature, which was as much 
a part of Hairface as was his long gray coat 
and his whip-cord sinews, even now had 
asserted itself more than Roderick dreamed. 
In the dark corner of his box-stall the seed 
had germinated as Hairface watched this 
man creature coming and going. 

Surely he was the same in kind as that 
wood-cutter, whom the whelps and the old 
wolf had shadowed for nearly a week the 
fall before, and of whom the old wolf had 
tried to make them so afraid. Yet this 
man creature seemed full of kindness. 
His voice, when he talked to Hairface, did 
not convey any menace. On the other 
hand, it was low and pleasant and re- 
assuring. Could it be that his sire, the 



188 A Wilderness Dog 

old wolf who knew the wilderness so well, 
and whose knowledge of men so far sur- 
passed his own, had been mistaken, or was 
there a difference in these men creatures 
just as there was in wolves ? Hairface him- 
self was not like the Mongrel, so perhaps 
this man creature was not like that other 
whom they had watched in the woods. 

Instinctively, Hairface felt that the 
villagers, whom they met upon their walks 
when his master led him about the town^ 
feared him, and this pleased the wolf-dog. 
The Mongrel had feared him. Perhaps 
all the men creatures with the exception 
of his master were like the Mongrel. That 
was the way in which Hairface finally 
classified the world of men. Those who 
did not fear him were strong like his 
master and to be respected ; those who did, 
were mongrels to be despised. 

When Hairface had first been tied in 
the stall, with his jaws locked tightly 



Back to His First Love 189 

together, he had been all hate. There was 
not a hair upon his back and neck that 
did not bristle whenever any one came 
near hirn. He was fairly bursting with 
rage. They had undone him, taken away 
his freedom. If he ever got loose, he would 
kill them all. 

After a week or two, however, a new 
feeling, that was foreign to him, stole softly 
into his nature. He began to watch for the 
coming and going of this man creature who 
had such strange power over him. 

At first, when Roderick talked to him, 
it would put him into a rage, — the man 
creature was taunting him ; but gradually 
he came to love the tones of his voice, and 
to miss them when he did not talk. 

Slowly the feeling inside him, which 
was so different from the wolf hate, began 
to assert itself more and more. He did not 
wag his tail or laugh at his master's com- 
ing, as a dog will often do, but his all- 



190 A Wilderness Dog 

seeing yellow eyes followed his every mo- 
tion, and this was the first sign that he 
gave of love. 

Never in his life, even when he grew to 
love his master as devotedly as any dog, 
was he demonstrative. His love was always 
silent, a smooth current that ran deep. 
He had lived too much in the woods, in 
the vast silences which subdue the lives of 
those who dwell in the echoless depths, to 
be a creature of enthusiasm or noise. 

So, although Hairface trotted as obedi- 
ently at heel as any dog and was quick to 
mind his master, the villagers distrusted 
him. He was no dog, and no part of him 
was dog. He did not love Roderick or he 
would wag his tail or show some other sign 
of affection. He was a wolf, grim and ter- 
rible, silent and unloving. This was the 
general verdict ; although the young Scotch- 
man argued and expostulated, he could not 
change it. 



Back to His First Love 191 

" A wolf he was born, mon, an' a wolf he 
will die. You carina get figs from thistles, 
an' no good will come on't." This was the 
way in which Bobbie McGinnis regarded 
the wolf, as the inhabitants of St. Boniface 
persisted in calling him, to Roderick's great 
disgust. 

All the dogs in the village, too, consid- 
ered Hairface an outcast. They recognized 
only the wolf in his nature, as did the men. 
Most of them put their tails between their 
legs and slunk away whenever Hairface 
came in sight. So he at once classed them 
as mongrels. They had not courage like 
himself, and Hairface accordingly despised 
them. 

There were two or three, however, of 
better stuff than their fellows, who were not 
afraid of anything, having bulldog blood in 
them. One evening these fell upon Hair- 
face, when he had loitered for a moment 
behind his master, and there was straight- 



192 A Wilderness Dog 

way such a fight as had not been seen in 
the village in many a day. It was three to 
one, but that made no difference, for this 
one was a born fighter. He had been trained 
to fight from the moment that he could 
stagger about. 

His motions were like lightning, and his 
powerful jaws worked with deadly effect. 
He did not clinch, as the bulldog likes to do, 
but sprang and snapped and then sprang 
again, and each time he punished his ad- 
versary as only a wolf can. 

In less than a minute, one of the dogs 
was lying upon the ground weltering in his 
own blood, gasping out his life ; and a 
second had turned tail and run. The 
third still faced the wolf, but only the in- 
tervention of men saved his life, for Hair- 
face was leaving deep gaping gashes each 
time he struck. 

This dog fight, although the dogs had 
been the aggressors, also helped to put 



Back to His First Love 193 

Hairface in disfavor, and there was again a 
clamor for his life ; but Roderick laughed 
such entreaties to scorn. 

" He can lick all the dogs in town in a 
bunch," he would say. " If you don't be- 
lieve it, just bring them on." 

About this time, Roderick again resumed 
the driving of the tote-team to the lumber- 
camps far in the heavily-timbered wilder- 
ness, and took his wolf-dog with him ; so 
the villagers had nothing further to com- 
plain of for that winter. 

It was surprising with what whole-hearted- 
ness Hairface gave himself to his master, 
once his wolf nature had been displaced by 
the dog nature in him ; although, as he was 
undemonstrative and silent, no one ever 
knew the depth of his affection but Roder- 
ick, who had understood him all along. 

Following the tote-team through the 
snow-laden woods was much more to the 
wolf-dog's liking than staying in a village. 



194 A Wilderness Dog 

Here was in part the old free life which he 
had lived in the wilderness, and at the 
same time here was his master, who was 
his new-found love. 

He usually ran in the trail behind the 
sled, but often ranged in wide circles across 
the road looking for rabbit or partridge 
signs, and at the same time keeping an eye 
upon the team. 

In the lumber-camp the wolf, as they 
called him, was not much more of a favorite 
than he had been in the village, for even 
here the rough lumbermen, inured to all 
kinds of danger, were afraid of Hairface. 
He was so silent and unapproachable that 
they could not believe him to be anything 
but a full-blooded wolf. 

Hairface was always on his dignity with 
the lumbermen and did not allow any of 
them so much as to put a hand upon him. 
In fact, Roderick was the only person who 
ever dared touch him. 



Back to His First Love 



195 



" Can't make me believe that there is any 
dog about that critter, Rod/' growled an old 
lumberman one day. " He is wolf, and 
nothing but wolf, and he doesn't care any 
more about you than he does about a stick. 
He can't care ; it ain't in his nater. He is 
a wolf, all fight and hate." 

"He'd go through fire forme; I know 
it," replied the boy stoutly. 

All through the winter, Hairface and the 
tote-team came and went in the silent 
forest ; but in the spring something hap- 
pened that amply bore out Roderick's as- 
sertions as to the loyalty and affection of his 
wolf-dog, forever silencing his critics in the 
lumber-camp at least. 

This year the camp was in a new region 
and a part of the lumber was cut near a 
deep gulch, which led down to a branch of 
the Ottawa. To save drawing the lumber 
to this river, the lumbermen dumped it all 
into the bottom of the gulch and built a 



196 A Wilderness Dog 

darn across it below the logs. They knew 
that in the spring, when the heavy rains 
came, the gulch would fill ; and when this 
occurred, they planned to dynamite the 
dam and let the water, lumber and all, go 
down to the river in a mad rush. This is 
a common practice among lumbermen, who 
will resort to almost any expediency to get 
rid of hauling the logs. 

In the spring the rains came just as they 
had expected, and the valley was filled with 
water until even with the top of the dam. 
By this time the trips of the tote-team had 
been given up and Roderick was tempora- 
rily helping the rivermen get the drive 
started. On the day that they were to 
dynamite the dam, there was great excite- 
ment, for it was an awful yet inspiring sight 
to see this mountain of water sweep millions 
of feet of timber down the gulch to the 
river. If all went well, when the last 
small stream had run out, the logs would be 



Back to His First Love 



197 



down in the river ; but it sometimes hap- 
pened that the logs jammed midway in 
their course, allowing the water to run out, 
but leaving a part of the timber in the mid- 
dle of the gulch. 

While the rivermen were making ready 
for the blasts that should unloose the turbu- 
lence of the waters and set the lumber in 
motion, Hairface sat gravely upon the bank, 
his eyes riveted upon Roderick as he walked 
from point to point upon the logs, freeing 
one here and there with his spike-pole and 
making sure, so far as possible, that all 
would move out smoothly when the time 
came. 

Finally all was ready, and the charges of 
dynamite were set off. Tons of water and 
mud were thrown up by the explosion and 
the timbers of the dam were tumbled in all 
directions. Then what a turmoil filled the 
valley, where but a moment before all had 
been quiet and calm ! With a roar like con- 



198 A Wilderness Dog 

tinuous thunder, foaming, lashing, and 
tumbling, the waters poured through the 
broken dam, and the mighty mass of 
lumber started on its way to the river. The 
logs that a moment ago had seemed inani- 
mate suddenly took to themselves life and 
motion. They butted and fought like 
mighty battering-rams. They rolled and 
twisted, groaned and scraped, each doing its 
best to shoulder its neighbor out of place, 
and all fighting for the right of way. 

Once the mass had fairly started, the 
courageous river men were upon it with 
their spike-poles and Peavy sticks, pushing 
and prying, exerting themselves to the ut- 
most to see that the drive went down to the 
river without a hitch. As Roderick was 
borne farther and farther down-stream by 
the moving logs, Hairface followed upon the 
shore, watching his master's every motion. 

But this short drive was doomed to mis- 
erable failure, for it had not gone over a 



Back to His First Love 199 

quarter of the distance to the river when 
the logs began to jam, and where there had 
been confusion before, there was now pande- 
monium. Fiercer and fiercer grew the 
struggle of the fighting logs to get over the 
jam. They butted and pushed and every 
moment the current behind them piled 
them up higher, until in places they were 
mountain-high ; all seething and tumbling, 
crashing and grinding. It was in such a 
death-trap that Roderick suddenly found 
himself, several rods from shore. 

The logs danced and leaped so that he 
could hardly keep his footing. Great 
chasms suddenly yawned at his feet, en- 
deavoring to engulf him, and then, with a 
sound like thunder, closed. He sprang 
from point to point, avoiding death at 
every leap by a hair's breadth. 

In this frightful scene, all had forgotten 
the wolf-dog ; but presently, above the 
thunder of these millions of feet of fighting 



200 A Wilderness Dog 

logs and the roar of the mad waters, was 
heard a long pathetic howl, cutting the 
great volume of sound like a knife, and 
Hairface sprang from the bank upon the 
jam. 

Dog though he was, without retractile 
claws to keep his footing as he sprang, he 
jumped from log to log with the precision 
and dexterity of a great cat. He cleared 
eight and ten feet at a bound and his paws 
barely touched the logs, as he sped to his 
imperiled master. Hairface had nearly 
reached Roderick's side, when the log upon 
which the boy stood suddenly shot up at 
one end and the young Scotchman was 
thrown heavily, the end of the beam 
barely missing his skull as it fell. With a 
single bound Hairface was at the side of the 
prostrate figure. Instantly, another gap 
yawned before them ; closing his teeth 
upon his master's coat collar, the wolf-dog 
dragged him back several feet to safety. 










Hairface Sped to His Imperilled Master 



Back to His First Love 201 

Death was all about them, and the most 
that Hairface could do was to haul his 
master this way and that and keep him 
from rolling between the logs. But this 
temporary aid was just what stood between 
Roderick and a terrible death, for his com- 
panions were coming to his rescue, leaping 
from log to log. 

The jam was so thoroughly packed that 
its pounding and pushing each second 
lessened. The rivermen, who were now at 
Roderick's side, lifted him in their strong 
arms and bore him over the jam to the shore. 

When they laid him on the solid earth, 
Hairface snuggled up as close to his mas- 
ter as he could get, licking the blood from 
his face and washing the dirt from his 
hands with his soft, long tongue. He was 
nearly frantic with the deathlike stillness 
of his master, and when Roderick at last 
opened his eyes and stroked his head, he 
barked again and again with delight. 






202 



A Wilderness Dog 



" Just that moment's help, when Hairface 
pulled me out of the way of that log and 
then kept me from falling in between two 
others, was what saved me," he said as soon 
as he could speak. " I saw the danger my- 
self but was too faint to move. What do 
you boys think of my wolf now ? " Roder- 
ick continued triumphantly. " I guess he 
is about worth his weight in gold." 



CHAPTER VIII 
FAITHFUL AS A DOG 



m 



CHAPTER VIII 

FAITHFUL AS A DOG 

On the last trip of the tote-team out of 
camp and back to the settlement, still 
another incident occurred that showed 
Hairface's fidelity to his master. 

When about half-way back to McGregor's 
Point, Roderick missed his wolf-dog. This 
did not disturb him at first, as Hairface 
often ranged wide along the trail, looking 
for rabbits or other game ; but, when an 
hour passed and he did not appear, Roder- 
ick thought it strange and whistled from 
time to time. All in vain, for Hairface had 
not rejoined the team when the Point was 
reached. 

" He's left you, mon," chuckled old 
McCormick. " Gone back to the wolves 
just as the deerhound did." 






206 



A Wilderness Dog 



Roderick stoutly denied this, although 
he was sorely troubled by the inci- 
dent. 

When, the following morning, Hairface 
had not returned, the boy went along the 
trail to look for him, going horseback and 
taking his dinner. 

Nothing was seen of the missing wolf-dog 
until he rounded a sharp twist in the trail, 
at about the spot where Roderick had first 
missed him; there he came upon him, 
lying in the rough road, close by an old 
coat of his master's which had accidentally 
fallen off the load. 

When he saw Roderick, he leaped about 
with great glee and continually ran back 
and nosed the garment, as much as to say, 
" Here it is, master. I have been guarding 
it until your return." 

A dog might have picked up the coat and 
followed with it, but not so the wolf. His 
kind had not acquired the habit of retriev- 



Faithful as a Dog 207 

ing, so he stayed faithfully by his master's 
property. 

It was a very slight incident, yet it 
brought a great lump into Roderick's throat, 
coming as it did so closely upon the scene 
at the log jam. The young Scotchman 
dismounted and sat upon the ground, hug- 
ging his great wolf, while Hairface licked 
his face and hands, feeling well pleased with 
his day's vigil. 

Once back in the parish of St. Boniface, 
Roderick and Hairface took up their old 
duties of farmers, which had been tempo- 
rarily interrupted by the winter's work with 
the tote-team. The wolf-dog's rescue of his 
master from the jam gained him a few 
friends among the villagers, although he 
was still viewed with disfavor by most of 
them. 

This summer Roderick determined to 
make a sheep and cattle dog of Hairface 
and began training him as soon as they 



208 



A Wilderness Dog 



were back upon the little farm. He took 
great pride in developing his wolf, so that, 
before the summer was over, Hairface was 
one of the best sheep and cattle herders 
in the valley of the upper Ottawa. 

It is doubtful if it would have made any 
difference in the young Scotchman's resolve, 
had he known in how many bloody forays 
upon sheep Hairface had participated. The 
great gray wolf often recalled times in the 
past, when he and his sire and the Mongrel 
had scattered these flocks of stupid creatures 
to the wind, and then killed them right 
and left. 

It w r as a striking picture to see the tall 
wolf guarding the white innocent sheep ; 
his hungry yellow eyes watching warily to 
see that harm did not come to them. His 
kind had been their sworn enemy for all 
time, but now the " lion and the lamb " were 
lying down together. 

About the first of October something 



Faithful as a Dog 209 

happened in connection with the sheep- 
herding that tested the sheep-dog as no 
other event could have done, and showed 
how utterly he had become dog, the sworn 
ally of man. 

It was about the middle of October, Indian 
summer in this cold northland. A dreamy 
blue haze was spread like a pale, transparent 
veil over all things. The sun's rays were 
mellow, like the soft smile of the dying 
year, and the air was clear and cool. 

Hairface and his flock were upon a side- 
hill, close to an evergreen wood of spruce 
and hemlock. The sheep were feeding 
and the wolf sat upon his haunches, his 
restless yellow eyes roving this way and 
that. 

Presently, two tall gaunt figures, as mighty 
as the sheep-dog, slunk through the cover 
toward the open pasture-land, and stood in 
the thicket peering out at the sheep and 
their guardian. It was the old wolf, the 



210 A Wilderness Dog 

sire of Hairface, and also his litter brother, 
the Mongrel. 

They remained still for a few minutes 
testing the air, until they had analyzed 
both the scent of the flock of sheep and that 
of the sheep-dog. They knew at once that 
it was their comrade of many a sheep-kill- 
ing, for a wolfs nose never forgets. They 
also understood intuitively, by his attitude 
of watchfulness over the sheep, that he 
had turned dog and gone over to their 
enemy, man. 

With manes up and their fangs bared, 
of one impulse they started forward to kill 
this wolf who had turned dog and now 
guarded the sheep of their enemy, man, 
the sheep who were legitimate food for 
wolves. 

Hairface saw his sire and the Mongrel 
almost as soon as they did him. Here were 
two wolves, the enemy of his friend man, 
who had come to destroy the sheep that 






Faithful as a Dog 211 

belonged to his master, and he sprang for- 
ward with bristling mane, raised hackles 
and gleaming fangs to kill these sheep 
destroyers. Dearer to him than life was 
his master; so what mattered wounds or 
even death if he might die fighting for the 
man creature who was his god? 

The old wolf and the Mongrel came on 
furiously, without fear ; but Hairface was 
wary. He had developed his dog traits, 
and they had not. He knew full well that, 
if he were to win this fight, he would need 
all the cunning of the dog as well as the 
fierceness of the wolf. 

He backed up against a juniper bush, 
that his flank might be partially protected, 
and prepared for the attack. He did not 
have long to wait ; for, without any parley 
or sparring, the old wolf and the Mongrel 
were upon him. 

They sprang in together like trained 
fighters, and Hairface had to take the pun- 







212 



-A Wilderness Dog 



ishment of one while he punished the 
other ; but his coat was much thicker than 
that of either of his antagonists and this 
stood him in good stead. 

There was no barking, but desperate 
fighting. They sprang like flashing gray 
streaks, and their long jaws worked like 
machines. Fang struck shoulder and 
shoulder met fang, and the blood flowed 
in small trickling streams down their sides. 

Soon both of Hairface's ears were in rib- 
bons and still he fought on. His sire, the 
old wolf, had the skin at his throat ripped 
open so that it hung in a loose flap, but he 
did not mind a little thing like that. 

Hairface's own fangs then met in the 
Mongrel's shoulder and he fought on three 
legs. The old wolf punished his traitorous 
whelp with a great gaping wound in the 
throat, but he was nothing daunted. They 
should not kill his master's sheep until 
they had killed him. 



Faithful as a Dog 213 

Again they both sprang together and all 
but knocked him off his feet. Had this 
happened, his hour would have come, but 
he was up like lightning and gripped the 
Mongrel by the throat. He sank his teeth 
deeply and then sprang back, taking a part 
of his hold with him. 

This stroke probably saved Hairface's 
life, for the Mongrel's jugular vein was 
torn open, and with a gasp he sank to earth 
and did not rise again. He kicked feebly 
and soon lay motionless. His part in the 
fight was over. 

Still the old wolf kept up the struggle. 
Clearly, however, he was no match for 
Hairface, who was fighting for his master's 
sheep, while the old wolf was merely fight- 
ing for victory. Steadily the wolf-dog bore 
his sire back toward the woods, until at 
last, still putting up a running fight, he 
disappeared in the thicket. 

Hairface soon returned. Sitting down 



214 A Wilderness Dog 

on the hillside near to his sheep, he began 
to lick his wounds. He was so spent with 
fighting and loss of blood that he could 
hardly stand, but this was nothing, as long 
as his master's property was safe. 

That night, when Roderick came out to 
salt the flock, he found his wolf-dog still 
guarding them, but so stiff that he could 
scarcely move. Upon interrogating him, 
Hairface proudly led the way to where the 
Mongrel lay dead, and, after looking over 
the ground carefully, the young Scotchman 
understood. So once more he sat down 
upon the ground and put his arms around 
the neck of his faithful friend. 

A week or two after the encounter 
between Hairface and his kin, Roderick 
decided that it was just as well to bring the 
sheep home. It was growing cold rapidly 
and feed was short and dry. There had 
been no losses whatever during the year, 
under the watchful care of Hairface, and 



Faithful as a Dog 215 

he did not want anything to happen now 
to break this fine record. 

So the sheep were driven home, the corn 
was husked, and the farm buildings were 
made snug for winter. 

The snows fell early and by the middle 
of November there were six inches on the 
ground, while the skies were a dull leaden 
gray which promised more. 

This was good news for Roderick and 
Hairface, for it meant that they would soon 
go back to the tote-team, and both liked 
the wilderness better than they did the 
primitive village life. 

To Roderick, as to his wolf-dog, the smell 
of spruce and hemlock and the gray vistas 
of the forest were satisfying as only un- 
trammeled nature can be. They were 
never lonely in the woods, which teemed 
with life and were full of low, sweet voices. 
If one listened long and intently, he could 
even hear the breathing of the forest, a 



iVA 



imw 



216 



A Wilderness Dog 



deep rhythmic soughing, coming at regular 
intervals, like the low gasps of a mighty 
bellows. 

About the middle of December, Bill Hol- 
land, the chaney man whose duties were 
timekeeper and paymaster of the camp, was 
taken sick, and Roderick was put in his 
place for the time being. The young 
Scotchman was a good mathematician and 
capable of better things than driving the 
tote-team, which he had been doing partly 
for fun ; so he kept the job even after Hol- 
land had partially recovered and gone back 
to civilization. 

This camp was a small one, and the 
chaney man was also the scaler, meas- 
uring all the logs as they were cut and 
piled. 

Roderick's new duties kept him busy 
from morning till night, and also brought 
him into very intimate relations with the 
men. The timekeeper and scaler who had 



Faithful as a Dog 217 

preceded him had been very slack in his 
duties, and had always played into the 
hands of the men in the matter of keeping 
their time. He also was not particular 
about the way in which they cut the logs. 
This was done to curry favor with the camp. 
But Roderick's Scotch conscience would 
not let him continue any of this favoritism, 
which was really sharp practice. So he 
docked the men whenever for any reason 
they did not give in their correct time. He 
also made them butt their logs carefully 
and saw them close to the ground. 

For this he at once became unpopular. 
Besides, he was young, and had jumped 
into his position over the heads of some 
of the rest of the help, which also made 
jealousy. 

With every day that went by the feeling 
grew, until, at the end of a month, Roderick 
and Hairface were almost outcasts in the 
camp. None of the men spoke to Roderick 



•J 



218 A Wilderness Dog 

unless they were obliged to, and Hairface 
was hated even more than he had been the 
year before. 

Such a thing might not have happened 
in an intelligent community, but this was 
one of the roughest camps upon the upper 
Ottawa. Its members were gathered from 
all quarters of Canada, although most were 
either French, Canuck, Scotch, or Scotch- 
Irish. 

The trouble between Roderick and the 
men probably never would have been very 
serious had not Whiskey Jake, a rumseller 
from McGregor's Point, smuggled liquor 
into the camp. As it was against the regu- 
lations to have liquor, he came in the even- 
ing, bringing his goods in a sleigh, and 
departed before daylight ; but he left behind 
him several large demijohns, and the effect 
of his visit was at once apparent in the 
demeanor of the men. The boss was also 
away for a few days at this critical time, 



Faithful as a Dog 219 

which made them under less restraint than 
they would otherwise have been. 

They had treated Roderick with silent 
disdain before, but now they openly jeered 
and leered at him. This attitude of the men 
grew worse and worse as the days wore on, 
and Roderick hoped and prayed that the 
boss might return or that the bad whiskey 
might give out. 

At last the trouble reached a crisis when 
the young Scotchman refused to scale a log 
unless it was rebutted, saying that it could 
not be sawed as it was, and that it would 
have to be done at the mills if it were not 
done now. 

Instantly, there was a storm among the 
men, and an excited crowd gathered around 
the scaler. One of the men, Mike Mahoney, 
the bully of the camp, and head chopper, 
swore that Roderick would scale the log or 
he would kill him. 

But Roderick came of a race that had 



220 



A Wilderness Dog 



died for their faith, and the threat of the 
bully had no terror for him, although he 
was backed by a dozen ruffians, who were 
half drunk, and all anxious to help pound 
him. 

Mahoney laid a heavy hand upon the 
young man's shoulder and glowered upon 
him, but Roderick looked straight in his 
bleared eyes, his own clear blue eyes glint- 
ing like steel. 

" Whatever you fellows see fit to do, I 
shall not scale that log until it is squared 
up at the butt," he declared, in a quiet, 
ringing voice, in which was not a tremor. 

This declaration was the signal for a roar 
of anger from the men and a combined at- 
tack, which, in a second, attained the 
fury of a football rush. Mike's heavy fist 
was aimed at Roderick's head, but he warded 
off the blow by a hair's breadth and re- 
turned the bully one in the face. 

It was a hopeless fight, however, for in 



Faithful as a Dog 221 

five seconds the brave young fellow was 
down and a dozen reckless men, so crazed 
with whiskey that they hardly knew what 
they did, were kicking the life out of their 
victim with their heavy boots. 

" Stop, we'll kill him," warned one of the 
gang, who was a little less intoxicated than 
his fellows. 

" That's what we intend to do," growled 
Mike. " Boot him, boys, boot him." 

Just at that second there was a change in 
the program, which could not have been 
more sudden if a ten-inch shell had been 
thrown in their midst and burst at the very 
heart of the fight. A tall, gaunt, gray figure, 
making fifteen feet at a bound, came out of 
the woods like a cyclone and landed with a 
last mighty leap full upon the top of the 
struggling mass. 

It was Hairface and his fury was terrible 
to see. His mane and hackles were up, and 
his cavernous mouth was open, ready for 



222 A Wilderness Dog 

the death-dealing snap. Every inch of his 
one hundred and twenty-five pounds of 
whip-cord sinews and his rawhide muscles 
seemed bursting with rage. The horrible 
sound, half snarl and half roar, that came 
from his throat as he sprang, was enough to 
freeze the blood in the veins of the terrified 
lumbermen. 

Right and left he ripped and slashed with 
his mighty jaws. Here he tore open an arm, 
there he laid a thigh-bone bare and white ; 
but by good fortune he happened not to 
strike at any man's throat. 

Roderick, at the bottom of the heap, 
heard the snarl, and knew well what it 
meant. Although he instantly understood 
that his wolf-dog had come in just the right 
moment to save his life, a great fear seized 
him. Unless he could free himself and 
stop the enraged brute, he would kill half 
of them. No one knew how Hairface loved 
his master. His fury was terrible. 



Faithful as a Dog 223 

" Hairface, back," he called through the 
struggling mass. " Back, I say, Hairface ; 
back." 

With lightning-like haste those who 
could struggled out of the mass, and fled in 
every direction, each for himself. They 
were almost as white with fear as was the 
snow upon the ground ; their eyes bulged 
out from their heads, and their teeth chat- 
tered. 

At the sound of his master's voice, Hair- 
face paused for a second in his deadly work. 
In that second Roderick reached up his 
hand and catching hold of the long coarse 
hair upon his neck, spoke gently to him. 
The wolf-dog still continued to growl like 
a demon, but he stopped long enough to 
lick his master's hand. 

" Now, men," called Roderick, " pile off 
as carefully as you can and I will hold 
him." 

As fearfully as though they were working 



224 



A Wilderness Dog 



with dynamite, the men untangled them- 
selves and stood erect, as astonished and ter- 
rified a set of lumbermen as the Canadian 
woods had ever seen. 

Roderick was covered with bruises and 
blood flowed freely from a cut upon his 
head, but otherwise he was not injured. 

Hairface stood by his side, still raging, 
all eagerness to get at his master's enemies. 

" Boys," said Roderick, as soon as he got 
his breath, " you might have killed me had 
it not been for Hairface, and I feel he has 
saved you as horrible a fate as he has me. 
But I know that you are full of whiskey, 
and not more than half responsible, so I am 
going to overlook it this time, with one ex- 
ception. I feel that you have been the 
tools of an unscrupulous man, whom we 
will be well rid of." 

Then, turning to the bully who had led 
the attack, he said : " Mike, you git. I 
will give you just two minutes to do it. 



Faithful as a Dog 225 

When that time is up, I will let Hairface at 
your throat." 

One glance at the wolf-dog was enough 
for Mike. He turned without a word and, 
not even stopping for his cap, which had 
been knocked off in the scrimmage, took 
the trail for McGregor's Point, at the best 
pace of which he was capable. Hairface 
followed him with his blazing yellow eyes 
until the blue-green plumes of the forest 
hid him from sight. 



CHAPTER IX 
HEARD IN THE SILENCE 



CHAPTER IX 

HEAED IN THE SILENCE 

In the latter part of February of the 
same season when Hairface had rescued 
Roderick from the fury of the lumbermen, 
the young Scotchman was sent across 
country to a neighboring lumber-camp. 
Here for a day or two he was to help with 
the scaling of the logs, the local scaler hav- 
ing been taken sick, which had caused the 
work to get behind. 

There had been a glare crust for several 
days, and Hairface, who had been hunting 
assiduous^, had cut his feet so badly on 
the crust that he could hardly stand ; for 
the first time in two years, therefore, he was 
left behind. His master tied him in the 
stable and explained to him, as well as he 



230 A Wilderness Dog 

was able, that he could not accompany him, 
and was not to make a fuss. At first the 
wolf-dog was nearly heart-broken, but Billy, 
the stable-boy, was very good to him, and 
he finally decided to make the best of a 
bad matter. 

The second day after Roderick's depar- 
ture, it began to snow, and all day and all 
night long it came down steadily. Toward 
the following noon, the storm ceased ; and 
men and teams were soon busy breaking 
out the camp and the log-roads, which had 
become badly blocked. 

About five o'clock Billy, who was bed- 
ding down the horses and making them 
snug for the night, noticed that Hairface 
was whining as he lay asleep in his 
corner. 

Thinking that the dog was the victim of 
a bad dream, Billy went over and spoke 
to him ; to his great astonishment the wolf- 
dog leaped up with bared fangs and glaring 



Heard in the Silence 231 

eyes. His mane was erect, every hair upon 
his back bristled, and every muscle seemed 
quivering with rage. 

Billy beat a hasty retreat into a distant 
corner, while Hairface still stood glaring 
about, winking and blinking, not yet quite 
sure of himself, or where he was. 

Then his eyes lost the look of uncer- 
tainty, and their light was like two glowing 
coals in a camp-fire. With a sound, half 
roar, half howl, he sprang against his strong 
chain. Once, twice, he sprang ; the second 
time the snap straightened and he was free. 
Straight towards the door he rushed, but it 
was shut, so he turned to the window. 
With a mighty bound he went crashing 
through it, carrying glass, sash, and all, 
before him. 

Billy followed to the opening and peered 
after him, his eyes bulging with fright. 
The wolf-dog was running like the wind, 
belly to earth, making a bee-line through 



232 



A Wilderness Dog 



the woods, to what Billy could not for the 
life of him imagine. 

Five minutes later a belated teamster 
came in, declaring that the wolf-dog had 
gone mad. 

" Faith, an' he wuz runnin' like the 
divil was arter him. No dog in his right 
mind cuts up such didoes. I tell you, he 
is mad." 

Meanwhile, Roderick had made a suc- 
cessful trip to the neighboring camp, and 
had completed his work of scaling. The 
second afternoon, when the storm had 
ceased, he had started for home, in spite 
of the remonstrances of the lumbermen, 
who knew better than he how deep and 
heavy the snow was and how it would 
weigh him down. 

When he had covered about half of the 
distance back to the home camp, one of 
his snow-shoes broke, and it took quite a 
while to mend it. Not only did this con- 



Heard in the Silence 233 

sume time, but the shoe now gave out at the 
break every mile or so, and he was obliged 
to stop to repair it. This, together with 
the very hard traveling, so delayed him 
that when night fell he had covered barely 
half the distance back to camp. At first, 
his plight seemed more uncomfortable than 
alarming, for the weather was not so very 
cold ; he would not freeze. To think of 
making a camp was out of the question, as 
he had no matches with him. The snow 
was very deep, but that was not an insur- 
mountable obstacle. 

He could not find his way by the stars, 
as it was cloudy, and there was not light 
enough for him to travel by the lean of the 
timber. There was little else for him to 
do, therefore, but to keep walking so as 
not to get cold, and wait as patiently as he 
might for the coming of morning. 

About six o'clock, when he had been 
tramping to and fro in this hopeless man- 



234 A Wilderness Dog 

ner for perhaps an hour, a long, high- 
keyed, desolate howl floated down the 
aisles of the snow-laden spruces to his ears. 
He had heard this cry too often to be un- 
certain as to what it was. He knew it at 
once to be the hunting cry of the gray 
wolf. 

Then he remembered with some alarm 
that it had been a very hard winter for all 
the carnivorous wood folk, a lean year, as 
lumbermen say. These great brutes must 
be hungry, and he was unarmed, having 
gone light in order that he might make a 
quick trip. 

At this point in his thoughts, he detected 
a slumping sound in the snow near at hand, 
and, whirling about, saw a wolf, a giant of 
his kind, standing not thirty paces away, 
eyeing him hungrily. 

In another moment, he heard a similar 
sound in an opposite direction, and, turning 
about, beheld another wolf. Presently these 



Heard in the Silence 235 

were joined by two more, who paused at 
about the same distance away and stood 
watching him intently. 

The sudden appearance of this wolf pack 
at such close quarters so amazed Roderick, 
— for he had seen no signs that he was be- 
ing followed, — that for a moment his mind, 
usually so alert in a crisis, refused to for- 
mulate any plan, and in this moment of 
hesitation he lost very valuable time. 

Being unarmed, his best course was to 
climb a tree, but he stood with his back 
against a little poplar until the pack had 
drawn in so close that for him to select a 
better refuge than this offered was out of 
the question. 

When this alternative did occur to him, 
he shinned up the tree for six or eight feet, 
getting up just high enough to be out of the 
way of the wolves when they should spring 
for him ; but his position was a most un- 
certain one. The tree, which barely bore 



236 A Wilderness Dog 

his weight, swayed and bent considerably, 
and the limb upon which his feet rested 
seemed weak. 

In his flight up to this doubtful perch, 
he had taken one of the snow-shoes with 
him ; but it was a very poor substitute for 
a club. Besides, he did not dare move 
about enough to use it, for fear that any 
movement might either break the limb upon 
which he stood, or cause the tree itself to 
bend down so close to the ground that the 
wolves might spring up and reach him. It 
was a position that could not be maintained 
for a very long time, and the question was 
from what source could any possible help 
come. 

For fifteen or twenty minutes the poor 
fugitive clung desperately, while the hungry 
pack beneath tried their best to get at him. 
At first they came and sat in an expectant 
circle about the tree, looking up with their 
yellow phosphorous eyes, their lips wrinkled 



Heard in the Silence 237 

and their fangs bared. Then they tried 
springing at their prey and at each spring 
their cavernous mouths opened and occa- 
sionally their white teeth clicked, although 
they could not reach the man within a foot 
or two. 

Then their leader, a taller and more pow- 
erful wolf than the rest of the pack, stood 
upon his hind legs, and put his paws as far 
up the trunk of the tree as possible, stretch- 
ing up his sharp nose hungrily. 

Roderick thought that the wolf got much 
too close for comfort, so he reached down 
with the snow-shoe and aimed a smart blow 
at the nose. His movements were not as 
quick as those of the wolf, whose nose was 
jerked back just far enough to escape the 
blow, but whose powerful jaws closed upon 
the snow-shoe ; at the same time he leaped 
to all fours, giving a strong pull upon the 
weapon. 

At first, Roderick thought to keep hold 



238 A Wilderness Dog 

of the snow-shoe, but the wolf pulled so hard 
and quick, and the tree bent so violently, 
that he let go to save himself. This action 
was too late, however, for the centre of 
gravity had been moved so far from imme- 
diately over the butt of the tree that, when 
Roderick released his hold upon the snow- 
shoe, the sapling did not recoil as he had 
expected, but slowly bent lower and lower, 
each second bringing him a few inches 
nearer the upstretched jaws waiting to re- 
ceive him. 

In moments of supreme peril like this in 
which the young Scotchman now found him- 
self, the mind takes no account of time, but 
tells off days, months or years, with light- 
ning-like rapidity. It can, when forced to 
do so, make a marvelous kinetoscope of 
memory and put years into seconds. 

So Roderick, suspended in mid-air, with 
the yawning jaws of the pack beneath him, 
recalled many stirring scenes in his life, 



Heard in the Silence 239 

and particularly the struggles of two 
wolves that he had trapped several years 
before. Then he had been the victor, but 
now it was their turn. The wheel of for- 
tune had revolved and he was on the under 
side. 

In imagination he saw his limbs being 
torn, and the red blood spurting from the 
wounds. He even saw his bones white and 
fleshless, as they would doubtless be in 
another hour. All these and other horrors 
raced madly through his mind, and cold 
sweat stood upon his forehead in great drops. 

Then the grim, gaunt old wolf, leader of 
the pack, made a mighty leap and caught 
the young man by the toe of the boot, hold- 
ing on just long enough to give a strong 
tug upon it. This added weight was too 
much for the brittle poplar, which snapped 
with a report like the crack of a pistol, 
bringing man, tree-top, and all, down into 
the springing, snapping, eager wolf pack. 



240 A Wilderness Dog 

The accident was so sudden, and the tree- 
top made such a swishing sound as it fell, 
that for one moment the wolves sprang 
back ; but, as they saw the man struggle 
to his feet, they were upon him. 

As a dying man clutches at a straw, 
Roderick reached for the snow-shoe, and, 
with this poor weapon clenched fiercely in 
his hand, he made his last stand. He 
swung it about his head like one mad, 
striking in all directions at once, and all 
the time keeping up a hideous yelling, 
hoping by mere noise to hold them at a 
distance. 

For a few seconds these tactics worked, 
but the wolves soon discovered that noise 
did them no harm and came at him with 
deadly intent. Again and again he struck 
them off, but the snow-shoe had no sharp 
corner. Its ends were nicely rounded, and 
struck merely a glancing blow. Twice 
he stunned members of the pack, but in a 



Heard in the Silence 241 

second or two they were up and at him 
again. 

Soon their long jaws began to rip his 
clothing. First his coat-sleeve went, and 
then a wolf laid his trousers-leg open for 
the entire length. His superhuman efforts 
made his breath come in short gasps. Al- 
ready the force of his blows was diminish- 
ing. A few more seconds and all would be 
over. 

In the very thick of the fight, when the 
four wolves had sprung at once, and had 
all but borne him to earth, a fifth wolf, 
much larger than any of the pack, cleared 
the near-by thicket at a bound, and with 
two more great jumps landed fairly in the 
tree-top at Roderick's side. The struggling 
man saw him coming, but was too spent to 
ward him off. Besides, he could not see 
plainly, for his eyes were dim with the 
exertion he was making. 

Instinctively his hand went down to 



242 A Wilderness Dog 

clutch the newcomer by the throat, to dis- 
lodge him, if possible ; but his grip relaxed 
almost as it touched the wolf's coat, for it 
fell upon a stout leather collar, thickly 
studded with tacks. Frantically he clutched 
again at the wolf. He trembled so that he 
could scarcely control his hand. Then a 
cry of joy broke from his lips. It was 
Hair face. 

Hope, like a bright flame, leaped up in the 
boy's heart, new strength flowed freely into 
his exhausted muscles, and he gripped the 
snow-shoe, crying : " At 'em, Hairface. 
Give 'em fits. We'll lick 'em yet." 

The great dog- wolf, whose heart was fairly 
bursting with love for his master and with 
hate for his assailants, needed no urging. 
Like an avenging fury he fell upon the 
pack. At the first rush, he caught one of 
the young wolves in the side of the throat, 
ripping open his jugular vein, and put him 
at once out of the combat. 



Heard in the Silence 243 

But in another second the grizzled old 
wolf, the leader of the pack, was upon 
Hairface, and the two trained fighters 
struggled like giants in this death game. 
They sprang like lightning, and their great 
jaws met in each other's shoulders and 
faces. Blood flowed in tiny rivulets. One 
of the young wolves wounded Hairface 
badly in the flank, but still he fought on, 
while Roderick used his snow-shoe with 
might and main upon the two remaining 
wolves. 

At last Hairface caught the old wolf in 
the throat grip, and, following his dog in- 
stinct, held on. Deeper and deeper he 
sank his fangs into the old fighter's throat, 
each second shutting off his wind more 
effectively. The leader struggled frantically 
to free himself, but it was useless. Hair- 
face held him with a grip like steel. Pres- 
ently he found the jugular vein in the old 
wolfs throat, and his blood flowed freely. 



244 A- Wilderness Dog 

This was the beginning of the end, for 
the old warrior's strength was going ; pres- 
ently he sank down in the snow gasping 
out his life, and the two remaining wolves 
fled in panic. 

Soon Hairface released his hold upon the 
old wolf, and stood over him, watching his 
life ebb. He no longer growled or roared, 
and Roderick thought the look of rage in 
his face was replaced by an almost wistful 
expression. The breathing of the dying 
wolf grew feebler and feebler. Hairface 
still stood above him watching, but he did 
not see the snow-bound forest, or the 
dying wolf before him. 

He saw a moonlit meadow where a pa- 
tient old wolf taught three eager wolf-dogs 
to catch mice, and he remembered with 
pride that the teacher always favored him. 
He saw the den by the rocks, and the old 
wolf bringing home a rabbit for his three 
hungry whelps, while he himself went 



Heard in the Silence 245 

supperless to bed. He saw the pitiless 
snow-bound forest and the bull moose at 
bay, while his sire again and again risked 
his life that he might win meat for his 
offspring. 

Then, as the old wolf gave his last gasp, 
kicked, and lay still in death, Hairface 
tenderly licked his face, softly caressing the 
ugly visage. It was his dog heart that had 
spoken, for the dead wolf was his sire. 

Roderick looked on in amazement until 
he remembered that Hairface himself had 
once been a wolf, and then he thought he 
understood. " Never mind, old fellow," he 
said cheerily. " It is all in the day's work. 
He would have done it to you if he 
could." 

The man's voice aroused Hairface from 
his dreams of the wolf life. He came and 
licked his master's hands again and again, 
snuggled in under his arm and got as 
close to him as possible, telling him in the 



246 



A Wilderness Dog 



plainest dog language that his surrender 
was complete, and that every drop of blood 
in his body and every ounce of strength in 
his frame was his master's for all time. 



CHAPTER X 
THE RED RAGE 






CHAPTER X 

THE RED RAGE 

What a thing of beauty and grace is 
the luxuriant primeval forest in summer- 
time ; the forest where the profane ring of 
the axe has never been heard, and where 
the breast of Mother Earth is still un- 
scarred by the hand of man. What a 
wealth of life, of growth, of fragrance, and 
what a quiet spell it casts over one, invit- 
ing tired man to lay his troubles at the 
feet of Nature and be a care-free child again. 

The light in the deep forest is a half 
twilight, like that in some mighty cathedral 
filtered through green stained-glass win- 
dows ; only the light of the forest is purer 
than that of the temple. 

Its carpets are as soft and luxuriant as 
those in the church. The foot sinks as 



250 A Wilderness Dog 

noiselessly in the moss as in the most costly 
Persian rug. Its pattern, too, is infinitely 
more pleasing than that of the rug, for 
nature never repeats. You cannot find, no 
matter how long you search, one blade of 
grass that is quite like another. There is 
no fern frond but has some peculiarity all 
its own. God was not so busy when He 
fashioned the universe, that He could not 
find time to make a new pattern for each 
of His creations, no matter how tiny. Of 
all the countless number of snowflakes 
that have fallen to earth, the microscope 
has yet to discover two alike. 

The incense in the woods is sweeter and 
more alluring than that of the church, for 
it teems with life. Each fragrance, each 
aroma, tells a story all its own ; a story of 
life that throbs and yearns toward the 
light, that expands and fulfils its destiny. 

The choristry in the woods is sweeter, 
more melodious than that in the church, 



The Red Rage 251 

for what human vocalist can chant like the 
hermit thrush ? Not only do the birds sing, 
but a hundred little crawling, creeping 
things all have voices of their own ; sweet 
little undertones and overtones in the great 
Te Deum. 

Into this sanctuary of the Most High 
come the lumbermen in obedience to the 
call of commerce. From morn till night 
the ring of the axe resounds in the cathedral 
aisles of the woods. Huge sentinel pines 
and spruces, that have seen half a dozen 
generations of men come and go, totter 
upon their broad stumps and fall to earth, 
and " great is the fall thereof." 

The ferns, the mosses, the creeping vines 
are ruthlessly crushed and killed. For 
green freshness and growth, there are left 
sawdust and chips, bleeding tree-stumps 
and death — death, dearth and desolation. 

Go through the green woods in the 
summer before it has been despoiled, and 



252 A Wilderness Dog 

then again the following spring in the wake 
of the lumbermen, and you will not recog- 
nize it as the same place. The tops of the 
fallen giants, which in their haste and 
greed the spoilers of the forest did not even 
limb out, are piled mountain high ; while 
in every direction there is a tangle of dead 
limbs, chips, chip dirt, sawdust and tree- 
stumps. 

Such were the conditions along the ten 
miles of trail that Roderick traversed every 
other day with the tote-team, the fourth 
autumn of his connection with the Ottawa 
Lumber Company. The trail led through 
two years' cuttings, farther on into the 
wilderness. But this autumn was quite 
different from anything that the young 
Scotchman had ever known, as far as 
nature and the woods and fields were con- 
cerned. 

Usually there had been six inches or a 
foot of snow when he began his trips, but 



The Red Rage 253 



this year there was barely enough to make 
the ground white, and so Roderick had to 
use an old wood-shod sled, which would 
run smoothly where an iron-shod sled 
would scratch. Even this little snow dis- 
appeared the first warm day after its fall, 
and the ground was as dry and as crisp as 
it had been before. 

No rain had fallen since the middle of 
August, and the country was in the clutches 
of the worst drought old lumbermen re- 
membered ever experiencing. 

In midsummer even the leaves had 
turned a sickly yellow, beginning with the 
trees upon the uplands, which usually turn 
latest. The ferns had also curled up their 
long graceful fronds into fantastic shapes, 
as though they had writhed and twisted in 
agony from the great thirst that was over 
all the land. Springs had gone dry that 
had never before failed in the memory of 
man. The smaller streams either had en- 



254 



A Wilderness Dog 



tirely dried up or had been reduced to a 
mere succession of pools, with rocks and 
sand between. The grass had withered to 
a brown crisp. It was so dry that the 
sheep had partially given up grazing, and 
had nibbled the leaves from bushes, which 
were slightly greener. 

Dust was everywhere. It lay thick upon 
the dried grass and leaves. The walls and 
fences were covered with it. It was in the 
very air one breathed. The sun rose in a 
yellow haze and set in a blood-red sea of 
fire. 

The birds and all the four-footed den- 
izens of the fields were ill at ease. Mother 
Nature was sick, and all partook of her 
malady. The crow clan often flew home to 
roost in the spruces when the sun was still 
three hours high. The eagle wheeled cease- 
lessly in the troubled sky, and screamed 
when there was apparently nothing to cause 
alarm. One day a muskrat left his native 



The Red Rage 255 

stream, which had gone dry, and actually 
came into the village, where he ferociously 
attacked a peaceful pedestrian and would 
not desist until knocked senseless with a 
club. " He was mad," an old woodsman 
said. And who can wonder ? When Na- 
ture herself has gone mad, what is left for 
her little furry children who are so depend- 
ent upon her caprices ? 

In the deep woods, or what had been the 
deep woods before the lumberman's axe 
swept it, the drought was still more appar- 
ent. 

All summer long the gum and the tur- 
pentine had been oozing from stumps and 
the ragged ends of limbs ; the chips and the 
chip dirt had been drying and baking. 
The myriad needles upon the dead tree-tops, 
no longer supplied with the life-giving sap, 
had turned sear and dry. 

By November all the vast forest waste, 
that the lumbermen had left in their wake, 



256 A Wilderness Dog 

was tinder. The dead leaves, the wrinkled 
fronds, the brittle, lifeless limbs, the pitch- 
covered stumps, the dry chip dirt,— all were 
like a powder mill ; impotent in themselves, 
yet holding in their impassive grains and 
fibres the power of a terrible holocaust. 

Old lumbermen shook their heads and 
looked anxiously each day toward the 
cloudless sky. Both the sky and the earth 
had a ghastly appearance, that made even 
the most familiar places seem new and 
strange. 

One morning when Roderick started on 
his trip to the Point, there was a strong 
gale blowing from the northeast, and this 
made the lumbermen more anxious than 
ever. Hairface was not in camp when the 
team left, and Roderick did not wait for 
him, knowing well that he would soon dis- 
cover that he had gone, and would follow. 

About half an hour afterward, the Cookee 
ran screaming and gesticulating from the 



The Red Rage 257 

mess-room. He was a little Frenchman 
and very excitable ordinarily, but now he 
seemed fairly beside himself. He waved 
his arms about his head shouting, " Py Gar, 
Francois done one pig fool ting. We all 
burn up for suah, now. Christus, Holy 
Mother, save us." 

Even as he spoke a great cloud of smoke 
came pouring through the roof, almost im- 
mediately followed by a tiny flame, the red 
tongue of evil. 

The Cookee had been frying doughnuts 
and the fat had caught fire. He had lost 
his head and pitched the kettle into the 
corner of the room which had been in flames 
almost before he could turn around. 

For one second the tiny flame on the 
roof flickered and quivered, uncertain of its 
power, and then it felt the strong wind and 
knew that its hour had come. 

Like a demon, a thing of life, it leaped ten 
feet into the air, sucking up a small whirl- 



258 A Wilderness Dog 

pool of dust and powdered chips from the 
roof of the building ; dust and chips which 
had been drying and baking all summer 
long in the scorching sun, and which already 
trembled and vibrated with warmth. 

As the bright pillar of fire swept this 
cloud of dust into its great red mouth, it 
roared with triumph ; it leaped and danced 
with glee ; it hissed like some great serpen- 
tine fury that gloated over its prey so near 
at hand. 

Again the monster leaped and this time 
an old weather-scarred pine above the mess- 
house caught. For five seconds the flames 
traveled uncertainly in the lower branches, 
and then, with a rush and an exultant 
whoop, sprang to the top of the tall tree, 
at once gaining the advantage of a crown 
fire. For a moment it burned bright in the 
tree- top, as though waiting for new strength 
after its climb ; then, as a strong gust of 
wind struck it, leaped twenty-five feet into 



The Red Rage 259 

the air, roaring like an insensate thing. 
Like a red devil it towered above the sur- 
rounding tree-tops, hissing and spurting out 
greedy branch tongues of flame in every 
direction. 

Lashing itself into double fury, this red 
rage of nature burned on, the life and the 
warmth of the world gone mad ; the most 
terrible force in nature, before which men 
are as flies, once it sets its red seal of de- 
struction upon the landscape. 

At this point a dozen lumbermen came 
running breathless into camp. Their 
swarthy faces were white with fear. Their 
voices were hoarse with excitement and 
anger. They pointed, they gesticulated, 
yet were as helpless as the forest itself, 
while the great demon in the tree-tops 
leaped from sentinel pine to noble spruce, 
impartial in his fury, opening his great 
jaws of fire and engulfing an entire tree at 
a mouthful. 



260 A Wilderness Dog 

There was not much immediate danger 
for the men. A strong gale was blowing, 
and they could go to the leeward of the 
fire ; but the camp was doomed, and the 
cuttings of the two previous years would be 
swept clean, — God only knew how much 
more. It might sweep all the way to the 
Ottawa River with this gale behind it. 

Just at this point in the development of 
this holocaust of nature, the tall gaunt form 
of Hairface came racing excitedly into 
camp. He ran first to the stable, and then 
to the trail leading to McGregor's Point. 
One sniff at the dry earth told him all that 
he wanted to know. Anxiously his wrin- 
kled, hairy face was lifted to the lurid tree- 
tops, where the great pillars of fire leaped 
like red devils ; they had felt the strong 
gale at their backs and had begun a mad 
race toward the Ottawa. From tree-top 
to tree-top they leaped, taking fifty feet at a 
jump, running like the wind behind them. 



The Red Rage 261 

In a swift second Hairface observed all 
these things. Then the tough sinews in 
his mighty frame became pliable, his whip- 
cord muscles loosened, as he stretched his 
long racing length to mother earth and 
covered the trail toward McGregor's Point 
as only a mighty wolf could. 

In the tree-tops above him the flames 
roared and hissed. Bits of burning twigs 
fell about him. The air grew unbearably 
hot. A thick smoke, like a sea of fog, 
rolled ahead of this sea of fire. It was 
verily the crack of doom. Nature was 
avenging herself upon impotent man for 
all his desecration of the ancient woods. 

Meanwhile Roderick, all unconscious of 
the scourge that was galloping through the 
tree-tops behind him, was jogging slowly on 
his way to McGregor's Point. The first in- 
timation that he had of danger behind was 
received when he mounted a rise in the 
trail which at this point passed over a 



262 



A Wilderness Dog 






ridge. As he came out upon the crest of 
the hill, he noticed a flock of crows flying 
over with great haste. The crow is usually 
a leisurely flyer, but these seemed in a 
great hurry ; besides they were squalling 
excitedly. When they had passed, Roder- 
ick turned his head, and looked back along 
the way he had come. 

To his amazement the entire horizon line 
in his rear was ablaze. The sheet of fire 
seemed fully a mile wide, and it was com- 
ing toward him at a pace that made his 
cheek pale as he gazed. Here and there 
tall pillars of fire told where a giant tree 
was being wrapped in its winding-sheet. 
These tall pyramids of fire leaped con- 
stantly from point to point, but always 
toward him. The smoke from the holo- 
caust was barely half a mile away, and Rod- 
erick fancied that he could hear the roaring 
of the monster as it approached. 

This fire must be running thirty miles an 



The Red Rage 263 

hour, he thought. With the wood-shod sled 
and the horse he could not make ten, but 
perhaps he might keep ahead of it on 
horseback. In less time than it takes to 
tell it, he had unhitched the animal and 
was upon his back, racing for dear life. 
He had picked up a stick as he sprang upon 
the horse and he now plied it with all 
his might, for it was a case of spare the rod 
and lose not only his life, but also that of 
the good steed. 

The trail was very rough. The horse 
slipped and occasionally nearly floundered 
upon the treacherous leaves and the yield- 
ing moss. The harness, which he had not 
had time to make secure, flopped about 
ceaselessly. It was a mad race for life, with 
danger at every point. A misstep and a 
fall for horse and rider would be fatal. 

Still another disadvantage was found in 
the fact that the trail was crooked. It 
did not always proceed directly away from 



264 A Wilderness Dog 

the fire, but wound in and out through the 
most favorable ground. Yet the unblazed 
trail was so uncertain that Roderick dared 
not leave the beaten track to cut across 
country. 

For ten minutes they sped on. Although 
he lashed the horse frantically, the fire 
gained steadily on them. The thick clouds 
of smoke that rolled for half a mile ahead 
of the whirlwind of flame were already 
about them. Now, he could hear the roar 
of the pursuing monster, and it was like 
that of a mighty cataract. 

Occasionally a burning twig would fall 
across their path, catching the leaves upon 
the ground almost immediately, and these 
little outspurts of flame enabled the whirl- 
wind to travel more rapidly. 

The horse was now as much terrified as 
Roderick and needed no whip, but strained 
its every muscle. Each time the trail made 
a sharp turn or doubled back upon itself, 



The Red Rage 265 



Roderick groaned. Their lives might hang 
upon only a minute ; for he felt sure that, 
once out of the cuttings of the past two 
years, the fire could not run so rapidly, and 
perhaps he could distance it if he could 
keep up this pace for four or five miles more. 

But the roar of the flames behind grew 
louder all the time, the smoke in the air 
grew thicker, and the falling of sparks and 
bits of burning bark about them became 
more and more frequent. The cloud of 
smoke was now dense about them, and the 
great leaping pyramids of fire were barely 
half a mile behind. 

Anxiously Roderick turned his head to 
get one more look at the advancing sea of 
fire, and to estimate his chances for life ; 
and in that second of inattention to the 
trail and his flying steed, something hap- 
pened that took away the slight fighting 
chance that he had possessed the moment 
before. 



266 



A Wilderness Dog 



At the instant that he turned his head, a 
low limb from a tree beside the trail, a 
limb such as he had been dodging all the 
way, caught him under the chin, and, as 
he was unprepared for it, the obstacle 
brushed him from the horse's back like a 
fly. The steed galloped frantically on, 
leaving him sprawling by the trail, dazed 
and uncertain. The horror of his situation 
soon aroused him, and in a moment he was 
up and after the flying horse. There was 
no hope of overtaking him ; it was now a 
race on foot, but he must make the best 
fight that he could. So he set his teeth 
hard, leaned far forward, and ran as he had 
never run before. 

Even at his utmost pace, which he could 
maintain for not over half a mile, the fire 
bore down upon him with alarming swift- 
ness. The smoke grew more dense, sparks 
fell constantly, and the air thickened as 
though with the blackness of his doom. 



The Red Rage 267 

Deer, running with the speed of the wind, 
raced frantically by him. Foxes, belly to 
earth, stretched their supple limbs and sped 
by like red streaks. Large birds flew 
screaming overhead. The rabbit, terror 
lending wings to its usually fleet limbs, 
flashed by. Everything in earth and air 
seemed to be outstripping the poor man in 
his race for life. 

Cold sweat stood upon his brow, and his 
breath came in quick gasps. Five minutes, 
yes, three minutes more and the flames 
would engulf him. Even now the smoke 
was so thick that he could hardly breathe 
or see, or was it partly the exertion he was 
making that dimmed his sight? Despair 
clutched the young man. It was awful to 
die like this ; a rat in a trap. To be burned 
to a crisp, like a brush heap, without being 
able to do a thing to save one's self was horri- 
ble. Was there no help in earth or heaven ? 

Then his toe caught under a projecting 



268 A Wilderness Dog 

root, and he fell heavily. For a second he 
did not rise. What was the use anyhow ? 
It was all over. 

In this moment of uncertainty, when 
hope flickered and almost went out, a great 
gray shape sprang through the gloom and 
a cavernous mouth was closed upon his 
arm. The teeth did not sink in his flesh, 
but tugged frantically at his clothes, and a 
flash of intelligence like a bright flame 
illumined his brain. It was Hairface. 

With a glad cry, Roderick sprang to his 
feet, and hope again leaped in his heart. 
He had a strange intuition that his good 
old friend had come in some miraculous 
way to save him. Else, why had God sent 
him in this hour of peril ? But how the 
miracle was to be wrought he did not know. 

He turned to flee along the trail and away 
from the fire, calling to Hairface to follow ; 
but the wolf-dog caught him by the sleeve 
and pulled him to one side, indicating 




Frantically They Raced Through the Scorching Woods 



The Red Rage 269 

plainly that they should travel directly 
across the path of this whirlwind of flame. 

Roderick hesitated, as the meaning of 
the dog's action dawned upon him. It was 
utter madness. They could not make half 
the fight in that direction that they could 
running straight ahead. Again he started 
along the trail, but this time Hairface in 
his insistence tore the sleeve from his coat. 
So the young man yielded to the dog's en- 
treaties and took the direction indicated. 
Frantically they raced through the scorch- 
ing woods, the burning twigs falling all 
about them, and the main army of flames 
only a furlong away. 

Presently Roderick noticed that his feet 
sank deep in soft moss, and then, with a 
glad bark, Hairface, who was one jump 
ahead of his master, plunged into a small 
swamp pool, not over thirty or forty feet in 
length, and perhaps twenty wide. Roder- 
ick followed and hope, which dies hard in 



270 



A Wilderness Dog 



the young, again burned high, and the 
wonderful instinct of his wolf-dog was at 
once apparent to him. 

Wilderness creatures from the beginning 
of time have taken refuge from forest fires 
in lakes and streams, and this was the best 
substitute for it that there was at hand. 

To prove that it had been Hairface's wild 
instinct which had guided them hither, 
there was in the pool near by them another 
wolf, as well as a bear, a buck and two does, 
and half a dozen small creatures bobbing 
about uncertainly upon the water. It was 
surely a queer company that took refuge in 
this pool in the morass : the buck and his 
slayer, the gray wolf; the bear and his 
slayer, man, who is always looking for his 
coat. Truly the " lion and the lamb " were 
to " lie down together " upon this terrible 
day. 

While Roderick looked, trying to make 
out in the darkness who were his strange 



The Red Rage 271 

companions, the smoke settled like a thick 
pall over everything and the heat grew al- 
most unbearable. Sparks came down upon 
them in showers, and occasionally burning 
brands fell hissing in the pool. 

Hairface was lying with his entire body 
submerged and only the tip of his nose 
showing, and his master followed his ex- 
ample. Surely his wild instinct was the 
best guide in such an extremity. 

When the heat became so fierce that he 
could no longer stand it at the surface, 
Roderick would plunge his face under 
water, and when he could no longer 
breathe, he would come to the surface again 
for fresh air. But at such times the heat 
quickly drove him under. Finally he hit 
upon the expediency of covering his face 
with his cap, which had been drenched with 
water, and this partly protected him and at 
the same time gave him a chance to breathe. 

At best it was a frightful ordeal. The 



272 A Wilderness Dog 

buck plunged frantically from time to time, 
as though about to break away and flee into 
the fire. The bear also was most uneasy, 
and waded from side to side of the pool, 
trying vainly to find a cool spot. Only the 
man, the wolf-dog, and the real wolf seemed 
to have intelligence enough to appreciate all 
the facts in the case. 

For half an hour, and it seemed to Roder- 
ick like an eternity, they sweltered and 
choked, alternately ducking their heads 
under the water to escape the terrific heat, 
and then coming to the surface to inhale 
some of the smoke-thick air. 

Hairface and Roderick kept side by side, 
and the wolf-dog occasionally snuggled up 
to his master as though to tell him that it 
was all right. 

Finally the heat abated a little, although 
the smoke was still thick as night, and they 
could at last keep their heads above the 
water all the time. When they had lain 



The Red Rage 273 

for another hour in the seething pool, they 
came forth, covered with mud and grime, 
but safe. 

Slowly they picked their way through 
the still smouldering forest, where the red 
rage had set its black seal upon every- 
thing. It was a desolate scene. Dearth 
was everywhere, but what did it matter as 
long as their lives had been spared ? 



CHAPTER XI 
THE WILDERNESS CALL 



CHAPTER XI 

THE WILDERNESS CALL 

About the first of February, when the 
wilderness was in the Titanic grip of old 
winter, when spruce and hemlock and 
laurel were snow-laden, when the throbbing 
of the very heart of nature had almost ceased 
because of the intense cold, Roderick and 
Hairface made their last trip together with 
the tote-team, although neither appreciated 
this fact as they wound in and out of the 
ghostly aisles of the forest. 

There seemed to be some instinctive 
knowledge of coming separation in the 
mind of the wolf-dog, for he several times 
jumped upon the load and wriggled up as 
closely as he could to his master, as though 
he would fain express the great dog love 



278 A Wilderness Dog 



that welled up in him, to the obliteration 
of all other feeling. 

That night, when Roderick arrived home, 
he made the horse snug for the night as 
usual, and then reached under the seat of 
the pung for the little rifle which he always 
carried upon these trips and which had 
brought him many a partridge or rabbit as 
he threaded the forest aisles. The gun 
seemed to be caught in the horse-blanket, 
and the young man, holding the muzzle, 
pulled to free it. There was a sharp report 
and, without even a groan, Roderick fell 
forward upon the barn floor with a bullet 
in his heart. 

With a spring Hairface was by his side, 
and his frantic howling and barking soon 
brought the boy's father to the scene. 
Help was at once summoned, and strong 
arms lifted Roderick and bore him into 
the house, where they laid him upon a bed. 
Hairface crowded as close as he could to 



The Wilderness Call 279 

the legs of the men as they carried his 
master, a look of unutterable anguish on 
his wrinkled, hairy face. 

The doctor was brought immediately, but 
he needed only to place his hand upon the 
boy's wrist to read its pulseless story. 
Roderick was dead. 

When the physician had gone, heart- 
broken Hairface took up his position by 
the bedside, and would not leave it except 
to allow some of the necessary things to be 
done for his dead master. He did not offer 
to lick his friend's hands or face, as he 
would have done, had the boy been alive ; 
but simply rested his muzzle upon the 
pillow near his master's head. There he 
stood like a statue for hours, keeping a last 
death-watch by the one human being in all 
the world who had been kind to him, doing 
this reverence and love for his dead god, 
for Roderick had been as a god to him, all-, 
powerful, all-wise, all-beneficent. 



280 A Wilderness Dog 

Toward morning the wolf-dog deserted 
his post for a few minutes and went out 
into the open, just as a man often does with 
his grief. A few seconds later a high-keyed, 
desolate howl, mournful as the moaning of 
the wind or the cries of the screech-owl, 
floated back into the room where the dead 
boy lay. 

Roderick's old mother went to the window 
and saw poor Hairface, his long nose lifted 
toward the star-gemmed heavens, pouring- 
out his grief to the pitiless night. His out- 
cries were not full-throated, but half-stifled, 
and rose and fell like the sobbing of the 
night wind. Soon he returned and again 
took up his position at the side of his 
master. 

The following day it was a sorry little 
procession that bore the body to the burying- 
ground, where it was laid to rest. The sky 
was overcast and leaden, as though the very 
heart of Mother Nature ached, and as the 



The Wilderness Call 281 

funeral party wound their way up the hill 
to the churchyard, it began to snow. 

When the minister had said, " Dust to 
dust, ashes to ashes," and the company 
were about to leave, Hairface sprang into 
the grave, as though he too would fain be 
covered up with his master. No amount 
of coaxing or threatening would make him 
come out. Some of the villagers wanted to 
shoot him, but Roderick's father would not 
hear of it. 

" Let him alone," he said. " I know just 
how he feels. He will soon understand that 
it is of no use." 

So they went away and left Hairface 
snuggling down as flat as he could upon 
the pine box that he knew contained his 
master. He knew, too, that his master was 
dead ; he had seen death too many times 
not to understand. The spirit of darkness 
and of cold, that which numbs the earth 
and all its glad life, had taken him. But 



282 A Wilderness Dog 

he was waiting a while, as the old Scotch- 
man had said, until it should be quite plain 
to him. 

About two o'clock in the morning, the 
villagers were awakened by long and heart- 
rending howls from the hillside. Roder- 
ick's father went to the door and looked up 
at the little meeting-house, toward which 
his heart now yearned anew. The moon 
was at its full, and it was as light as day. 

There upon a great black rock, which the 
wind had swept clear of snow, sat Hairface, 
his gray coat clearly outlined against the 
sky. His nose was pointed toward the 
moon, which was just setting, and the 
howls that floated down across the valley 
made the tears course afresh down the 
wrjnkled cheeks of the old man. 

The night before, when he had howled 
because of the death of his master, the 
cries had been partly smothered, as though 
he feared to disturb the rest of the mourn- 



The Wilderness Call 283 

ers with his grief; but now it was different. 
Out in the open, where there was no one 
to hear but the moon and the stars, he 
could pour out the full measure of his 
anguish in mighty howls that rent the 
stillness of the night. Sometimes these 
cries would rise to a high-keyed note, a 
mere thread of sound, and then would 
swell in volume, becoming deeper in tone, 
until they were a perfect roar of rage. 

Others there were in the valley who heard 
the wolf-dog grieving for his master, and 
even those who had been most skeptical of 
Hairface now knew that he loved the man 
as truly as could have any dog. 

While the great wolf-dog sat upon the 
boulder pouring out his anguish to the 
night, a subtle and mysterious change was 
going on inside of him. Fibre by fibre his 
dog heart was breaking. Drop by drop his 
dog blood was turning to wolf. Slowly the 
love light in his eyes, his dog heritage, 



284 A Wilderness Dog 

faded, and the yellow gleam of the wolf 
took its place. The only man creature who 
had ever loved him was dead. The only 
link that bound him to civilization was 
broken, so why should he remain civilized ? 
The houses of the man-creatures in the 
valley changed from the interesting abodes 
of those whom he loved to the hostile 
fortresses of those who hated him, and 
consequently whom he hated. 

Gradually the note of lamentation in his 
howling changed to rage, rage at the fate 
which had given and taken away his god. 

At last the giant wolf stretched his 
mighty form and stood upon all fours. He 
glowered down at the houses of men in the 
valley, and a deep growl rumbled in his 
throat. Henceforth these men creatures 
would shoot him at sight. Well, he would 
take care that they did not see him. 

The keen winter wind blew sharply in 
his wrinkled face, but to him it was a tonic. 




He Glowered Down at the Houses of Men in the Valley 



The Wilderness Call 



285 



He drew long whiffs into his lungs, ex- 
panding his deep chest to its full dimen- 
sions. The wind tasted of spruce and of 
pine, of the laurel swamp where there was 
good rabbit hunting, and of the deep cover 
where the partridges were hiding this 
night. 

In imagination the wolf saw the snow- 
laden woods, with its moose and deer-yards, 
and its wild freedom. All were calling to 
him now. He had been a dog too long. 
Too long he had been upon the leash. He 
cast one last look at the sleeping valley 
and the haunts of man, and then sprang 
from the rock. Over the glittering crust 
he galloped, and, with each mile left be- 
hind, the blood quickened in his veins. 
It was a mad j'03^ to feel the rush of the 
wind, the lash of the underbrush in his 
face, and the exhilaration of free flight. 
Little showers of ice went sliding in every 
direction as he ran, and the shy little wood- 



286 A Wilderness Dog 

folk saw him pass with fear in their 
hearts. 

He was galloping back to the old hunt- 
ing-grounds of his sire, where he had first 
learned to catch mice, and where he had 
broken the back of his first fox. The 
bushes, the trees, the stumps, and even the 
rocks were calling to him. 

Just at sunrise he came out upon the top 
of a high bluff, and against a background 
of evergreen saw a tall wolf waiting for 
him. His first impulse was to rush at 
the stranger and give battle, but he at once 
remembered. This was a wolf like him- 
self; they were brothers in the wilderness. 
But were they brothers ? He thought his 
nose said something different, so he ap- 
proached the stranger warily. 

The she-wolf waited his coming with 
apparent indifference, although the mating 
call was probably singing in her blood. 
Hairface went up and sniffed noses with 



The Wilderness Call 287 

her, and then he knew that it was she who 
had called him as he sat alone with his grief 
upon the rock above the valley where the 
men creatures lived. Once more the two 
sniffed noses, and the wolf-dog was certain 
that he would never again be a dog. 

Then the twain turned and trotted off 
into the deep woods, going side by side. 
The wilderness dog had obeyed the call of 
his kind. A wolf he was born, and a wolf 
he must die. Henceforth his allegiance 
would be to his mate, his offspring, and also 
to the gray pack that hunted in the blue- 
green depths of the ancient forest. 

The wilderness at last had claimed its 
own. 






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